After The Crash
by Loafer
Summary: COMPLETE. Lassiet (shocker). The Feds want Juliet for an undercover op which makes her reevaluate her partnership, friendship... and more... with Carlton.
1. Chapter 1: Realization

**Disclaimer**: I neither own _**psych**_ nor have any right whatsoever to post anything whatsoever about it.  
**Rating**: T  
**Summary**: Lassiet (shocker). The Feds want Juliet for an undercover op which makes her reevaluate her partnership, friendship… and more… with Carlton.

**. . . .**

**. . .**

**CHAPTER ONE: Realization**

**. . . .**

**. . .**

Juliet turned from the counter and went to fix her coffee; normally she liked it black and plain but the particular barista working this afternoon tended to make it too strong to be drinkable without a little corrective creamer.

Carlton had gotten separated from her by a woman who 'accidentally' pushed her way in front of him. He probably would have stepped around her anyway if she hadn't had a cast on her leg and a patch over one eye (although Juliet could easily imagine him insisting it was a disguise and she was about to rob the place).

But when she scanned the room looking for him, he turned up off to the left chatting somewhat animatedly with a dark-haired woman. Well, the woman was animated; Carlton was quieter, but he seemed relaxed. It couldn't be Victoria, judging by the woman's scrubs, but she was attractive and seemed perfectly comfortable with Carlton.

Juliet stirred the creamer into her cup and replaced the lid, then edged her way down the line so she could see Carlton better, and damn if he wasn't smiling at the woman as if he weren't perfectly comfortable with _her_, too.

A prickle of _oh-I-don't-like-this_ crossed her senses, promptly squashed down with _nunya-bidness-let-him-alone_.

Her phone rang, with a summons to a crime scene, so she had to interrupt their tete-a-tete.

Approaching, she tapped Carlton on the arm. "Excuse me. We have a call."

"Oh, I'm sorry I stopped you getting coffee," the woman exclaimed as Juliet read her nametag: Ricki. She found the woman's dark gaze to be friendly.

"There'll be other chances," he assured her. "This is my partner, Detective O'Hara."

"Ricki Smith," she said, holding out her hand. "I met Carlton last month under somewhat less pleasant circumstances."

"Yes, well, things have improved on that front." He glanced at Juliet. "Rush?"

"Homicide. Sorry." She smiled at Ricki. "Nice to meet you."

Ricki nodded. "It's really good to see you, Carlton," she said with a warm smile, and Juliet knew him well enough to detect a definite, albeit faint, blush.

"You too," he said with an answering smile, and moved rapidly with Juliet out to the car. "Where to?"

She gave him the address, offered him some of her coffee which of course he refused, and settled in for the ride. "I'm not going to point out that it looked like she was flirting with you, in case you were worried."

A more decided blush colored his lean face. "Thanks."

Ha, and _there_ was an admission.

"But where did you meet her?"

"At the hospital." He was diffident.

She ran through recent cases in her head. "When was that?"

"Last month."

Still nothing. "Was I there?"

"No." Flat.

Interesting. "What case were you working?"

"It wasn't a case."

Juliet stared at him openly; he clenched the steering wheel more tightly. "Then why were you at the hospital?"

He put on his sunglasses with one hand, which made her want to rip them off his face again. "It's not important."

"Carlton," she said fiercely.

"It was after the Thane Woodson case. Okay?" He deliberately looked away from her. "What do we know about the homicide?"

"Why were you at the hospital? You told me you were fine." She'd known full well he wasn't _entirely_ fine, but she had in all honesty been focused on retrieving Carl Dozier, and oh yes, proving to herself (and Shawn) she wasn't a bad cop for having arrested Thane Woodson to begin with.

He shrugged.

Juliet resisted the urge to slug his arm. "You do know I'm not going to drop this, right?"

"I thought I should have my head checked out. It's no big deal."

"But I _asked_ you if you needed to—"

"We had to catch the Doziers," he reminded her.

"We did, but if you had a head injury—"

"It was just a mild concussion."

"_Just_ a concussion?" She was agape. "Carlton, what kind of partner am I that I didn't see—"

"You're a cop, not a doctor."

"For you to go get checked out meant you felt pretty damned bad. Why didn't you tell me?"

"We had to catch the Doziers," he repeated.

"I think we could have found time to get you to the hospital!" she insisted. "That was a serious collision!"

"Yes, I know. I was there." His tone was dry.

Juliet felt sick, remembering the force of the impact. "I am so sorry. I should have _made_ you go."

"Everything's fine. I told you. You wanted to know where I met Ricki, and that's where."

Oh yes: the original reason for this line of questioning. "She's an ER nurse?"

Carlton didn't answer.

Maybe he thought it was rhetorical. She persisted, willing to make it lighter if he needed that, "I guess she remembered your big blue and probably dilated eyes from that day. How long did you have to wait in the ER?"

"Not long," he said shortly.

There was more here, and she felt uneasy again. She stared at his impassive profile until he glanced at her.

"What?"

"What aren't you telling me?"

"Nothing. They kept me until they were sure my head was still on, that's all."

"And how long was that?"

"I was back to work Monday morning, wasn't I?"

"How long were you there, Carlton?" she repeated, both sick and angry.

"I got home Sunday afternoon. Here we are," he said—brisk as if this was nothing of consequence—stopped the car while she was still gaping at him, and was halfway out the door before she reached over and grabbed hard at his sleeve to hold him back.

"You were in the hospital _all weekend long_?"

Carlton tugged his arm free, but not without effort. "O'Hara, that was a month ago, it's over, and everything's fine. Let's go do our jobs, okay?"

Stunned, she sank back against her seat after he slammed the door and strode away.

He had been hospitalized—and not without a fight, she knew that without asking—all weekend long and never said a word to her. No call, no text, not so much as a whisper in the days or five weeks since. Not even a complaint about the food.

This wasn't right.

And somehow…

Somehow, it was her fault.

Juliet scrambled out of the car and raced to catch up with him, yanking him around to face her just before he reached to open the heavy glass door into the office building. "Carlton Lassiter, you stop your Irish ass right there."

He'd taken off his sunglasses again, and his vivid blue gaze was both cross and surprised, that oh-so-familiar frown directed fully at her. "_What_."

"Are you really going to make me ask you again why in the hell you didn't tell me you were going through all that?"

"Going through what? I lay around in a hospital bed for a couple of days. It wasn't exactly high drama, O'Hara."

"Carlton, stop downplaying. I need to know why you didn't call me. I _need_ to _know_."

His jaw clenched briefly. "You were busy."

Juliet stared at him. "Busy with what? What could I possibly have been doing to make you think—"

"You were celebrating your victory with Spencer," he ground out. "Far be it from me to interrupt that."

Mentally, she flailed around for a handhold. "It was _our_ victory, Carlton. Yours and mine, as cops."

"The hell it was. That was about you righting an unintentional wrong, proving to Spencer he was an asshat to think _he_ had to correct the error, and it had nothing to do with me. It was never even my case to begin with."

"You're my partner, and you stood by me, and you helped me fix it. You supported me all the way," she insisted. He had, too. He'd touted her work to Shawn, he'd never once given her any flak for the original closure of the investigation, and apart from his opening snark that the case would drive her and Spencer apart, he'd been right beside her the whole time.

Carlton drew himself in—she could _see_ his retreat. "The point is, that weekend was about you and him. There was nothing you could do for me, and everything Is. Fine. Now." He put his hand on her upper arm and tried to ease her aside, but Juliet didn't budge.

The truth was, the case _had_ driven her apart from Shawn. Three weeks later, she'd grown tired of his constant reminders that together they ("_but mostly me_") had saved Thane Woodson from the cruel injustice ("_no offense, Jules_") of his original arrest ("_not that you did anything wrong, Jules, but isn't it good _I_ saved… I mean, that I got you invested in reworking the case?_"). She'd begun to finally see the pattern of their relationship; in fact, the pattern of all his relationships, and had cut him loose. Or maybe cut herself loose.

That she hadn't told Carlton—even while berating him about not telling her of his hospitalization—was an irony not lost on her.

"Did you really think I wouldn't be there for you?" she asked softly, very much afraid he'd flat-out say yes, and she wouldn't be able to blame him one bit.

He sighed. "O'Hara, it wasn't about whether _you'd_ be there for me. But you're part of a package deal with the primary source of my blinding headaches, and since I had a concussion, I really didn't need Spencer around to make my skull explode, did I?"

Juliet released her grip on his arm, staring at him in… disbelief, or shock, or shame or embarrassment or… all of the above.

Carlton gave her a moment, and then pushed past her, not exactly gently. He held the door for a few seconds, and when she didn't follow, let it close between them.

Later, it felt like a hell of a metaphor.

**. . . .**

**. . .**

_A package deal with Shawn. _

Which truthfully included Gus most of the time. To Carlton, it must have seemed nigh on horrifying to think of the three of them parading into his hospital room. In her defense, she'd have tried to keep Shawn away, but how _hard_ would she have tried, really?

She took for granted Shawn wouldn't listen to her when she said 'back off' because he never listened to her. It had become merely a faint hope of 'someday' when she said those words, and Shawn always blithely did whatever he wanted.

She remembered being at the Psych office once when Carlton called about a case and told her not to let them come, and her immediate response had been that she assumed they would follow her anyway—and she said so in front of Shawn. Wasn't that tacit permission, if not an outright invitation?

Juliet paced her apartment, seeing the great distance she had created between herself and Carlton, hands-down the most dependable, loyal, trustworthy person in her life. She saw what she had done to break his trust in her, time and again.

Not only by the big sins—concealing her involvement with Shawn in the first place—but by the little subtle sins, such as giving him any reason at all to think she wouldn't stand on her own, _sans_ Shawn, to be his friend and supporter.

Someone who wouldn't ignore the aftereffects of a brutal collision. Someone who wouldn't gamble with her partner's health.

Someone who would have taken him to the damn hospital herself and insisted he get checked out—screw the Doziers—if not to follow long established and highly sensible protocol then because _she was his_ _friend_.

Her tears were bitter, but thankfully short. She braced herself for what she had to do now: rebuild.

She was done with Shawn. She'd tried to make it an amicable split, despite his clear disbelief that anything could be wrong with their relationship. She hoped he'd respect her request for him to keep his distance awhile, and for the last two weeks he had indeed been scarce.

Carlton, on the other hand, was her partner, and she didn't even want to contemplate ever being done with him. He was the one she trusted, the one who was supposed to be able to trust her in all things. The one who had taught her more in these seven years about being a good cop than she could ever have dreamed.

The one she prided herself on having… softened.

She had, she knew. His edges were a little less rough. He took a moment, more often, before running roughshod on people. He was less quick to assume everyone in the field was a suspect or an enemy. He laughed more with her; he relaxed more. He told her things he knew she'd never tell anyone else, because he _trusted_ her.

Or he had.

Now, it was clear he didn't think he could, because Shawn was always looming, mocking, belittling, denigrating. _Shawning_.

But Shawn was out of the picture now, and starting tomorrow, she was going to repair her partnership—her friendship—with Carlton, no matter what.

**. . . .**

**. . .**

One good thing about nearly always getting to work before Juliet was that Carlton could assess the day and his mood before she turned up. Juliet's good cheer was hard to completely resist, despite his most valiant efforts to maintain a finely-honed foul disposition.

Today he'd decided—after their rather intense confrontation yesterday afternoon—to be… steady. It was unlikely she'd let it completely drop (he knew her), but he could… maintain.

At the crime scene, she'd merely worked quietly alongside him, saying no more about The Discussion, but he knew she was Thinking. Analyzing. On a double-track of crime investigation and Carlton investigation, Juliet O'Hara was more than capable of keeping both in her sights.

Ricki was married, and she hadn't been flirting. He knew even in his hospital room her pleasant demeanor was more about keeping him calm. (By his _own_ standards, he'd been cranky to the nth degree.) But he wished now he'd come up with a lie about how she knew him. Anything to have avoided The Discussion.

He'd wanted to call Juliet that weekend. But apart from his physical pains being a good reason to avoid everyone, he'd seen how (uncharacteristically) quickly she'd accepted his 'I'm fine,' after the crash, and having Spencer later 'joke' that he'd died in that crash had seemed unusually bastardly. Juliet's shushing him was barely noticeable, and that stung.

She was focused on solving the case, on restoring her self-respect and proving Shawn wrong, and he had no problem with any of that. He'd have told her he was fine even if he'd had to carry his head out of the car in his hands, because he wanted justice done too.

But the idea of calling her that weekend—knowing Spencer and probably Guster would follow her in, and she'd _tolerate_ it—no. Just no.

He poured coffee and smoothed his tie, and braced himself for a day of pretending. Their partnership wasn't what it had been, but it was far from being a lost cause, and incidentally, it was all he had.

So when Juliet came in and smiled cautiously at him, he smiled back as if he meant it, and got down to work as if everything was going to be all right.

**. . . .**

**. . .**

Karen Vick stepped into the station with her mind racing. The meeting she'd just had with the FBI had gone a completely different direction from any she might have expected and she wasn't sure she had a full grip on the matter yet.

But time was of the essence, they assured her, so rather than make a public summons, she called Carlton from her desk phone and asked him to discreetly bring Juliet into her office as soon as possible. Sooner, even.

Through the blinds, she saw him get up and move with reasonable speed to Juliet's desk; the slim young woman gave him a bright smile which faded after he spoke to her, and neither was smiling as they walked down the hall to her door.

Carlton didn't wait to be asked to close it behind them, and they sat across from her, expectant.

Karen gazed at her top detectives as if they were strangers. Carlton, lean and remote, his large blue eyes perceptive and searching. Juliet, calm but curious, always steadfast and relentlessly optimistic.

_Start brisk, Vick_. "I've just come from a conference with the FBI at the courthouse, and I'll get to the point. Detective O'Hara, they want to use you for a sting operation."

Juliet blinked. "Really?"

Carlton glanced at her with a faint smile of pride. "There's a gold star for the personnel file."

Juliet seemed more pleased by his remark than Karen would have expected, and once again she considered the recent distance she'd noticed between this formerly tight team.

"What's the mission?" she asked. "Nothing too complicated for my first time out with the Feds, I hope."

_Oy vey._

"They want you to be yourself, only… gone rogue."

Carlton scoffed before Juliet did, but Juliet spoke first. "Rogue? Do they _know_ me?"

"O'Hara's professional reputation is damn near spotless. No one's going to believe she's gone rogue."

"The mission," Karen said, "is to be chosen to perform a hit."

Juliet's mouth dropped open. "A hit?"

"Once you're chosen, agree to the job and accept payment, they can move in and arrest the perps."

"Uh, payment's usually made after the hit is performed," Carlton pointed out unnecessarily.

"They assure me the victim will be protected." She hoped.

"But Chief, why do they want _me_? Don't they have anyone in _their_ office to do this?"

"For that matter, don't the _perps_ have their own guy?"

"It's a mob case," Karen explained. "The suspects are looking for someone completely unconnected to them, according to the FBI's inside man, and the FBI needs someone equally unconnected to their side to make Juliet's placement plausible."

"But you said she's supposed to be herself, so why would they take on a cop to do the job?"

"They say the leader of the pack they're after would find it deliciously tempting."

"Tempting," Juliet repeated, still seemingly at a loss.

"Tempting for them to take her down the second they figure out what's going on," Carlton snapped. His eyes were ablaze now and Karen was savvy enough to recognize personal attachment and fear for his partner in his reaction.

"The FBI has already developed a cover story to answer all these concerns," she said as calmly as if she believed it.

"Well, I'd like to know what it is, Chief, because any screwups on my part if I can't pull it off could cost more than _my_ life, and I don't want to be responsible for that."

"Let's hear it, Chief."

Karen briefly considered censuring Carlton for his tone, but the truth was she'd have sounded like that herself—_had_ sounded like that half an hour ago to the FBI, in fact.

He pressed on, "She's like the gold standard for good police work, and for that matter, my record's pretty good too. You'd have to convince the mob that I'm either allowing the transgressions or part of them myself."

She eyed him. "Oh, don't worry, you play a key role in this too."

"Carlton does?" Juliet sounded relieved. "So I won't be totally out there on my own?"

While she was thinking how the _hell_ to answer, she noted the two exchanging a glance—Juliet's steady, his slightly surprised. Karen filed that away for later study.

Still Carlton persisted, "Come on, Karen, lay it out."

Juliet leaned forward. "What cover story is going to make anyone think I've suddenly become a dirty cop?"

"Not a dirty cop," Karen corrected. "Just a cop who can be manipulated."

"But how? What on earth would make _me_ a credible choice?"

"Well," she said, pausing to take a deep breath, "for starters, the fact that you're going to blind your partner."

They stared at her—and it occurred to her they both had rather remarkable blue eyes, especially now that both pairs were fixed on hers so relentlessly.

She added helplessly, "As a result of a car accident."

Carlton frowned… but Juliet went white.

**. . . .**

**. . .**


	2. Chapter 2: The Pitch

**CHAPTER TWO: The Pitch**

**. . . .**

**. . .**

_Oh, irony. "As a result of a car accident." _

_Might as well have said "shoot your partner in the back"—you've been doing _that_ all year long._

Her mouth hanging open, Juliet turned slowly and stared at Carlton.

For a brief moment he looked just as shocked, but not as shocked as she was when he recovered and said flatly, "Do it."

"The hell I will," Juliet said at once, then re-focused on Karen Vick. "What are you talking about?"

"Look, I know it's hard to take in, but hear me out. And incidentally," she added with a pointed glance at Carlton, "try to remember I'm your commanding officer above and beyond being the messenger."

He kept his mouth shut.

Juliet looked between them, and decided that for at least sixty seconds, she would be a cop first. "You have my attention, Chief."

"They'll stage a collision, with you at the wheel, during which Carlton will be ostensibly blinded because of a head injury."

She was restless in her chair, and Juliet thought she wasn't happy about her topic. But then again, Juliet wasn't happy about her topic either, not so soon after realizing her enormous error in judgment regarding Carlton during the Woodson case.

"Furthermore, results of a blood test will show you'd been drinking."

"What?" Carlton burst out. "Again, _no one_ will believe—"

"Lassiter, stop." She didn't even look at him, keeping her attention on Juliet. "It's the one weak point of their story, but their solution is to have you be depressed after a breakup with Shawn. I advised them not to involve him in any way given his tendency to... interfere, but they said I should put it on the table."

_Oh, hell._

"He won't have to be involved," Juliet said slowly. "We broke up two weeks ago."

She instantly felt the laser-beam of Carlton's stare, but couldn't face him yet.

Vick's eyes narrowed. "Ah. Timely. Do you... require sympathy?"

Juliet couldn't fault the tone of the question. "No, thanks. But yes, I suppose it is timely."

"The idea of O'Hara getting drunk over Spencer is ludicrous," Carlton muttered.

It was sort of a compliment. Juliet glanced at him; he was staring past the Chief out the window, jaw set, frown in place.

"The mob doesn't know that. Anyway, it'll work for the back story nicely. The rest of it is that having injured your partner because of on-the-job drunkenness, you'll be on indefinite suspension pending investigation. He'll be in seclusion at home—meaning you're essentially under house arrest, Carlton, apart from enough public appearances to make it clear your blindness is real."

"And I go into a downward spiral," Juliet murmured, thinking it was probably what would happen in reality. "I'd have ended his career as well as mine, beyond being responsible for his blindness."

"Right. You'll be trying to hold yourself together, and when the mob rep approaches you with an offer for enough cash to pay Carlton's medical bills for the next twenty years, you'll jump at it."

He asked, "What kind of timeline are we talking about?"

"A few weeks. They'll want the accident within the next few days. You'll be hospitalized long enough to establish authenticity, but you'll demand to go home as soon as possible. Juliet will be approached while drinking her sorrows in a bar after that."

Juliet swallowed. "A few weeks of acting out the unthinkable."

"But easier than if they were trying to build a story with either of you here on the job. Getting you behind closed doors means your acting skills don't come under scrutiny," she said to Carlton, "no offense, and Juliet, getting you suspended means you won't be under the watchful and curious eyes of your coworkers."

"People will want to visit Carlton," Juliet said.

He snorted.

Vick rolled her eyes. "They _will_, but his natural anti-social tendencies coupled with his supposed trauma will buy him a few weeks of legitimate reason to want to be left alone."

"Did they consider simply having her kill me?"

To Juliet's ears, it was a bizarre question, but the Chief took it in stride. "Well, apart from the logistics and repercussions of trying to fake your death over this period of time, if you're dead, there's less incentive for her to take the job. She's not naturally motivated by money alone, but money to help _you_ is another matter."

He nodded, and Juliet wondered uneasily about the level of profiling the FBI must have done on her already.

"So once I'm approached, the hit will be soon after?"

"Very soon. The target is a man about to testify against them in court."

Juliet looked at Carlton, and his steady blue return gaze gave nothing away.

He said, as before, "Do it."

She made herself focus. "I don't think I can."

"You _can_, O'Hara." His tone was implacable.

"What if something goes wrong?"

"Nothing will go wrong." He looked at Karen Vick. "I assume they've plotted out the collision itself?"

"Yes. They'll take care of everything. You won't even have to be in the car."

Juliet was relieved; she'd thought she might have to actually drive them into a tree or something, and had already been mentally reviewing collision stats.

"Do it, O'Hara."

Again she studied him, her partner, her friend. Her protector.

"You've been after me to take time off," he added dryly. "This'll be my chance."

"Please. You cooped up in your condo for a few weeks won't be a vacation. It'll be a jail term."

A slight smile, and he nodded. "Catch up on my paperwork, then. Watch a lot of fishing shows and Civil War documentaries. I mean," he amended, "_listen_ to them."

The Chief interrupted gently. "They need an answer soon."

Juliet's guts were roiling. This was big: an opportunity, a lesson, and a test. And really, really bad timing.

"The lead agents want to talk with you both directly at the courthouse in an hour. They don't want to come here so I told them I could find a reason to send you over there."

Knowing Carlton was leaving it up to her, Juliet made up her mind, because in the end, the bigger picture—the whole reason she'd gone into police work—was what mattered: justice. "We'll go hear them out."

**. . . .**

**. . .**

Carlton, sitting at his desk in the time before they had to leave for the courthouse, pondered the exact reason he was so uneasy about her accepting the assignment despite his urging that she should.

It didn't take long: he didn't want her life on the line.

Technically it was on the line every day they did their jobs. But a big Federal mob case—not that she couldn't handle it—was more dangerous, and this time he wouldn't be at her side when things happened.

It wasn't just that he was a selfish bastard, wanting to keep his partner... _his beloved..._ safe from harm. It was that he cared about _her_ feelings, in a way he almost wished he didn't.

She'd be on her own facing all kinds of painful scrutiny, from accusations of on-the-job drinking to having blinded her partner, to being watched like a hawk by Very Bad People who wanted her to do a Very Bad Thing.

It wouldn't be much comfort, during those few weeks, that her name and reputation would be cleared when it was _over_. It would be very difficult for her sunny nature to handle the psychological warfare she'd undergo long before it was time to pretend she was going to kill a man in cold blood for money.

He also thought about her breakup with Spencer. It didn't much surprise him, either that it happened or that she hadn't told him, but he was already sure Spencer's ego would be quick to react to her supposedly being so distraught over their split. He might just make a pest of himself trying to get her back. Carlton made a mental note to point this out to the Chief: they'd have to be very careful Spencer _couldn't_ hover enough to think he had a reason to interfere and thus risk her life.

Rubbing his forehead, he thought back to yesterday's confrontation… and would have given anything for _that_ to be the most complicated issue on the agenda for the foreseeable future.

**. . . .**

**. . .**

Juliet tapped on Chief Vick's open door. "A moment?"

The Chief glanced at her watch. "That's about all you have."

Juliet went in and stood before the desk. "I... um... I have a question about Carlton."

Vick leaned back. "Okay."

"I know there's not much you can say, but... did you know he was in the hospital last month?"

"Of course," she said with some surprise.

Juliet's heart sank. "I didn't."

Vick could arch a disbelieving eyebrow just as well as Carlton. "Come again?"

"When did he tell you?" She didn't know why she was torturing herself.

"Monday, when he brought in the insurance paperwork. I wondered at him not calling me after he was admitted, but—are you saying he never said _anything_ to you about it?"

"No." She felt miserable.

"O'Hara, I took it for granted that you not only knew about this, but took him to the hospital _yourself_. I didn't ask him, because it seemed unnecessary." Her tone was sharp. "What the hell was going on that day that you didn't think it was worth a run by the ER?"

"Me being his worst partner ever." She drew in a deep breath. "Excuse me. If I hurry, I can _just_ fit in the time to go to the ladies' room and be sick."

Before she got to the door, Vick stopped her with a peremptory, "O'Hara."

Slowly Juliet turned.

Vick looked wry. "Even on a bad day, you're nobody's worst partner, and I suppose I have a passing familiarity with Lassiter's love of privacy. If he didn't want you to know, he wasn't going to tell you, period. If he hadn't needed my signature on some of the forms, I'm sure he wouldn't have told me either."

She knew the Chief was right. "Why doesn't that make me feel better?"

"Because you're his best partner ever," she said simply.

It was all she could do not to rush over and hug her.

**. . . .**

**. . .**

The lead agent in the case met them in a windowless office at the courthouse, standing back as they entered the room. He and Carlton sized each other up, and Carlton judged him to be at least temporarily inscrutable.

Compact and efficient of movement, he introduced himself as Kelly Berman and his partner as Liam Fuller. Fuller hung back after a brief nod to each of them.

"Your Chief gave you the overview?" Berman asked, gesturing to chairs.

Juliet nodded. "Staged car crash, injury to Carlton which results in blindness. My guilt leading me to accept a mob offer to make a hit. Why would Carlton need extra money, though? His police pension and insurance would be in effect."

Berman sat down across from them. "The damage to his optic nerve will make him a good candidate for expensive experimental procedures and treatments with a good chance of success—but which your insurance won't pay for."

Point one, Carlton thought; they'd discussed this in the car on the way over. Point two was next. "Given _my_ service record," he inquired, "why would I accept money from O'Hara which I would _have_ to suspect she acquired through questionable means?"

This earned a wry smile. "Sudden blindness means sudden loss of a career you've made your whole _life_ about, Detective."

Carlton met his gaze evenly; he couldn't argue, but he felt Juliet's mild consternation on his behalf without looking at her.

Berman continued, "Factoring in your awareness that O'Hara's career also just tanked because of her drinking, and you might take the money with an idea toward helping her as well as yourself."

"Also," Fuller said from his corner, "the mob's target is no angel. He's popped a few folks himself, including a teenage girl."

"But—" Juliet started.

"The trial he's testifying in is about money-laundering. The mob's only worried about him because he has some pretty specific information about Jacky DiMera, and DiMera's the one who wants him hit. You'll—rather, the O'Hara we're presenting—be able to convince yourself that DiMera's paper crime is lesser than that of the target."

"Who's the target?" Carlton asked.

"Are you taking the assignment?" Fuller responded, but he was looking at Juliet.

Juliet turned to Carlton. He didn't allow anything to show in his expression, he hoped, because she had to make up her own mind, and he also didn't want to give Fuller and Berman any reason to think she deferred to him at this point in her career.

But he sent her a silent message of encouragement, and she must have received it. With a slight nod, she turned back to the agents.

"Yes."

**. . . .**

**. . .**

On the way back to the station, armed with plentiful additional information and a head full of questions (and a gut full of doubts), Juliet turned to look at her partner. "I sense you have issues with me doing this."

They were, she suspected, more her own issues, but finding out exactly what he thought was more important to her than ever before.

He glanced at her. "No."

"Do you think I can't do it?"

Immediately, he scoffed. "Screw that. You can do anything you set your mind to, O'Hara."

"But there's something," she persisted. "You may be able to hide from everyone else, Carlton, but you can't hide from me."

He was silent.

She suddenly felt guilty. "Unless I get complacent and quit looking," she added in a mumble.

The blue gaze zoomed in on her again. "Stop it. Okay, yeah, I do have reservations, but they're not about whether you can do the work. I'm just worried, that's all."

"Because you think it's too dangerous?"

"All our work is dangerous. Hell, getting a cup of coffee is dangerous."

"Then _what_?"

He pulled into their parking spot at the station and turned off the engine. Looking more at the dark dash than her, he said slowly, "This case will hurt you."

Juliet felt a little twist in her heart—an oddly warm one. "I'll be fine."

Carlton looked at her fully now, his eyes ever so blue and relentless. "This case will hurt you because you'll have to deal with the speculation. The talk. The assumptions."

She paused, processing the rather sweet fact that he was expressing concern for her… psyche. "Maybe that'll help me play the part."

He shrugged, gaze back on the dashboard.

"Carlton," she began, certain she had to say this, "I didn't tell you about Shawn because—"

"Don't." He restlessly ran a hand through his hair, mussing it in a way which further humanized him (and she knew all too well he was just as human as anyone else, but his control over even his hair was part of his continuing effort to seem untouchable). "It's none of my business."

Juliet said quietly, "There was a time we disagreed on that."

He hesitated, facing her briefly. "The _existence_ of the relationship _was_ my business, because we're partners. What went on inside it was nobody's business but yours." He started to reach for the door, stopping to add, "And anyone else Spencer trumpeted it to."

She sighed. "Wait, please. Okay, I respect what you're saying. But just as the existence of it was your business, the non-existence of it is too. One of the many reasons I should have told you it started was that we all work together, and that was also a very good reason to tell you it ended."

His expression was shuttered—damn him.

"Another was that you're my friend."

Carlton blinked, and flushed slightly. "Even friends have no right to—"

"Just accept my apology, okay?"

One dark eyebrow arched. "A single FBI assignment and you think you can boss me around?"

She grinned. "You know I've been bossing you around for years."

"That's fair," he muttered, and got out of the car.

**. . . .**

**. . .**

Carlton had researched many and varied topics as part of his job, some more interesting than others, some far less, but this was the first time he'd had to learn how to deal with a physical impairment he didn't have.

He had what he needed from the FBI which pertained to how he should act in the weeks following his supposed blindness—_don't shave right away unless he could claim someone did it for him, don't let anyone hear the TV at home unless he could convince them he was just listening, keep the dark glasses on around visitors to avoid displaying reactions_—but he also needed to learn the specifics of his non-condition, because there would be questions.

In theory he'd be in the hospital (with hand-picked FBI medical personnel attending) for only a few days, lacking other significant physical injuries to keep him there. He was under orders to amp up (as if he would _need_ to amp it up) his desire to get the hell out and to his home.

He already knew how to repel people (except Juliet; she'd somehow stuck around for seven years), so he wasn't worried about that.

There was a slim-to-middling chance Spencer and Guster would try to visit while he was in the hospital. This did give him pause. He expected the dark glasses would be his greatest ally, but he warned Berman and Fuller that Spencer was to be urged away as quickly as possible or else he'd have to explain how he could unerringly find the man's throat despite being 'blind.'

They said they were fully aware of Spencer's reputation.

Juliet had made no comment.

Carlton had smiled. Juliet cleared her throat, but still made no comment. However, she did change the subject abruptly.

He sat with his laptop at home in the condo, reading up on the experiences of the newly blind, trying to absorb what he needed to know how to act. With luck and circumstance, his greatest test would be during those first days at the hospital. His home visitors would be only Juliet and Karen Vick, although he would allow Buzz McNab entrance, if only because Buzz would help promulgate the story as well as give him the layman's view of what was being said about Juliet. And okay, he liked the guy a little and knew Buzz was about the only person who would really and truly want to visit. As for Spencer and Guster, well, there was a reason God invented deadbolts.

When he had committed to his formidable memory everything he thought he would need, he ran his NSA-equivalent Internet history eraser and shut the laptop down.

Now there was just Juliet to worry about.

And he was plenty worried.

**. . . .**

**. . .**

In comparison, she thought, her role was simpler than Carlton's. He had to fake being blind. She only had to fake being someone who would kill for money, and it wasn't going to be that hard because the truth was, she thought maybe she could do it if something huge was on the line.

Something like Carlton.

Maybe... maybe _only_ Carlton.

All that stuff she'd ever seen on TV long before she'd become a cop (and after) about the enormity of the bond between partners was true. Their bond had been dented this past year, but it was still strong and still the most reliable aspect of her life.

At least abstractly, killing a bad guy—who was otherwise being granted immunity for his testimony in the trial—to make life easier for the partner whose career she'd destroyed was something she could… if not do without question, then at least do after _many_ questions.

Honestly, she couldn't think of anyone else she'd even _consider_ it for.

She didn't know what kind of person this made her. She didn't know if it made her someone Carlton would even want to know, in this hypothetical situation, let alone someone _she_ wanted to know.

It didn't matter now, she told herself. The game was on. The accident was set for Friday afternoon. Everything happening was happening fast, and she had to be ready.

But as she lay in her bed thinking it all over, what replayed relentlessly in her mind was the force of the collision five weeks ago, and how she'd just blithely taken Carlton's brusque "I'm fine" at face value because her need to show Shawn up was in full force.

How she'd been totally clueless he spent the weekend in the hospital. How he hadn't told her because he assumed she wouldn't want to leave her crowing boyfriend to be with her _true_ friend and partner.

And she was sure this definitely made her someone neither she nor Carlton wanted to know.

**. . . .**

**. . .**


	3. Chapter 3: Happening

**CHAPTER THREE: Happening**

**. . . .**

**. . .**

The bar was close enough to the station that she'd be recognized, but not so close as to be overly obvious.

She ordered a large Scotch and rocks, ignored the bartender's raised eyebrow when he spotted her badge, and drank half of it pretty fast. On top of an atypically large lunch, it wouldn't affect her overmuch, especially since she wandered away from the bar, discreetly poured the rest into a planter, and then wandered back to the bar to request another.

Real police would be on the scene of the upcoming accident, and her blood alcohol level would automatically be tested.

For the second drink, she visited another plant to dump the first half of the alcohol, sparing a thought for the plant, then returned to the bar to slowly finish it off, clinking the ice against the glass, smiling beneficently at the bartender, and declining an offer of peanuts.

_Be noticed, but don't say anything at first._

When she ordered the third drink, the bartender cleared his throat. "Didn't think cops drank on the job."

"It's my lunch hour," she said glibly.

"Even so."

"My money no good here?" She didn't wait for an answer, slugging back the rest of the brew. "I'm going home anyway, so don't worry. No drunken policing this afternoon."

"Good to know," he said dryly, and moved off to deal with another customer.

"O'Hara," barked Carlton from the door, and several heads turned. "Come on."

She let out a dramatic sigh and got up from her stool, putting money on the bar. The barkeep looked between her and Carlton as if he was considering ratting her out, so she smiled tightly and reminded him, "I'm homeward bound, buddy."

He relaxed, and she followed her (seemingly) irritated partner out the door.

Only he wasn't irritated; he was tense. Outside in the sunshine, they worked the choreographed move where she "somehow" got the keys from him (mainly by being slightly belligerent, which had worked once or twice in the past) and slid behind the wheel while he was still ostensibly fuming about it.

From there they drove to the appointed deserted side road where the switch of personnel would be made.

In a matter of minutes, the car was toast thanks to a tree pre-selected for abuse; Carlton was half in, half-out, his head covered with blood she was told was neither his nor real, and she was screaming into the police radio for backup and an ambulance.

There seemed to be no trace of any other soul around, and she began to understand how very sophisticated professional deception could be.

And how it stabbed at her heart to see Carlton down, no matter how fake it was.

He opened one blue eye and gave her a grin, dispelling her shaky mood. "Cheer up, O'Hara. A couple of aspirin and I'll be good as new."

She nearly threw her phone at him all the same.

**. . . .**

**. . .**

_Local Detective Intoxicated In Accident Which Injured Partner_

The police had come, some of them familiar to her and all of them shocked. They had not at first wanted to do the breath test—_come on, Juliet O'Hara? __Lassiter's__ partner?_—but when she yelled at a rookie to get away from Carlton, she made sure to breathe on the cop nearest to her, and his training kicked in.

_Officer Suspended; Partner Blinded_

The ambulance which showed up was all FBI. They extricated Carlton's supposedly unconscious form from the wreckage and whisked him off to the closest hospital.

Juliet was taken back to the station, crying real tears because _this could have happened when Carl Dozier rammed us_ kept repeating in her head, and was formally arrested by a grave Karen Vick.

She was released in the morning on her own recognizance and went promptly to the hospital, because even if she hadn't wanted to, she needed to be seen, distraught and guilt-ridden. A taxi took her there, since her keys and license (and needless to say badge and weapon) had been confiscated.

_Blindness Suspected Permanent in Police DUI Case_

Carlton, she thought dispassionately, was a long cool drink of water, lying in his hospital bed all cleaned up, his so-blue eyes appropriately bandaged. His hand-picked nursing staff and attending physician were taking good 'care' of him.

But then, he'd been here overnight and was clearly already tired of it, judging by how he fidgeted with the sheets. Good thing he had a private room or the game would already be over.

Juliet called his name from the doorway, and his head turned at once, but he kept his expression neutral.

"Hey, partner," she said more softly when she was at his bedside.

"O'Hara." He was gruff. Patented Lassiter gruff. He didn't know if anyone else was in the room.

"It's clear," she whispered, turning slightly so she could still see the door. "How you doing?"

"The bandages itch and I'm developing bedsores."

For the first time since yesterday, she felt a tendril of amusement. "It's a little too soon for that, but I hear you."

"What about you? I've asked for the TV to be on. All the doctor is telling me is that everything's fine." The doctor was the only one completely in on the plan, and as far as the public knew, taking a personal interest in the case simply because of Carlton's standing in the community.

The nurses knew not to ask questions, and when one of them popped in a minute later, Juliet shook her head and she retreated again.

"I've been arrested, arraigned, released, and vilified. Not necessarily in that order." She kept her tone even, because as long as he couldn't see her face, he wouldn't be able to tell how much it was cutting at her to be so quickly thought of as a bad cop. A bad _person_.

"You've been at the station?"

"Not since Vick arrested me yesterday. I have no plans to go back any time soon."

"She came by last night. And this morning. I told them no other visitors yet."

His mother was traveling—"_some silly-ass place where you have to pay a departure tax to leave, and don't think I didn't consider emptying her bank accounts after she got there_"—and when Juliet asked about his sister, he said he'd talked to her by phone and requested she not visit until he was able to handle it. She herself was away in the northern part of the state, so even if she overrode his request—_I would_, Juliet thought—they had a little time yet.

"And now we wait," he said simply.

"Too bad you suck at waiting."

"I hear that." He moved his hand, probably to adjust the sheet again, but brushed hers accidentally—and Juliet, on impulse, held on to those long warm fingers.

"Thank you," she whispered.

"For what?" Even with bandages hiding his expressive eyes, his surprise was clear.

"For encouraging me, and for… for everything, Carlton. Really, just everything."

Color suffused his cheeks, and she felt an almost unbearable wave of warmth toward him. Squeezing his hand, a grip he returned, she bent to kiss his forehead, because he couldn't see it coming and wouldn't be able to stop her.

"O'Hara." He was back to being gruff.

She wouldn't apologize. "Get used to me being around, partner. Part of the show is me chained to your bedside."

After a pause, he said, "I'll cope. You might just keep me sane."

_You might just keep _me_ sane_, she thought, and squeezed his hand again.

**. . . .**

**. . .**

The pattern for the next few days was simple.

Juliet went to the hospital daily by cab. She avoided her phone. She avoided newspapers, TV and emails. She didn't have to deal with family inquiries because the news hadn't traveled there yet—but she knew it would—and she was dodging everyone else.

FBI agents disguised as orderlies kept reporters at bay while she was visiting Carlton.

Shawn called. Many times. He left messages on her phone from his number. He left messages on her phone from Gus' number. He left messages on her phone from Henry's number.

Late Monday morning, as she was walking toward the hospital entrance with a bag of doughnuts for herself and Carlton, he got up from the bench where he'd been waiting.

"Jules."

She kept walking. "I can't, Shawn."

"Jules, come on. Talk to me." He got in front of her to slow her path.

Juliet sighed. "I don't have a gun so I can't shoot you, but please know that I would."

"Honey—" He stopped, seeing her expression. "Juliet. I'm worried about you. And Lassie. They wouldn't let me see him. How is he?"

"He's blind," she said bluntly. "Because I got drunk and wrecked the car. Any other questions?"

"Yeah. Yeah, a lot of questions. Like why were you driving at all? Why were you drinking at all? Why can't I see him?" His hazel gaze was guileless—for Shawn—and he seemed quite earnest.

"You can't see him because he doesn't want visitors. I was driving because I wanted to. I was drinking because I was an idiot. Can I go now?"

He dropped his hands, staring at her curiously. "Are you being hostile because of our breakup? Because I'm here for you, Jules. No matter what, as your friend. Although you know I'd love another chance with… with us."

Juliet took a mental step back and ten seconds to review how best to respond.

"I'm hostile, Shawn, because my incredibly stupid and selfish act cost my partner and best friend his vision and his career and oh yeah, _my_ career too. I'm worried about him and I just don't have time to make things easier for you. You can tell yourself you tried, and then you can go away. And you know what? It's not even personal. Excuse me." She got around him and went inside, and for once in his life, he had enough sense not to follow.

But he'd be back. She knew that too.

**. . . .**

**. . .**

Carlton was restless. Enforced leave never set well with him—_you really have to develop some hobbies, Lassiter_—and the one good thing about this charade was that his impatience didn't have to be feigned.

Prowling the room, he learned it by heart, feeling out the bed and the furniture and the equipment and cabinets. He knew the bedside drawer stuck and the closet door handle was loose and there were several uneven spots in the linoleum. He imagined the room being light blue. It didn't help.

He was here until the doctor decided he was fully stable—or rather, until everyone would believe he'd been there long enough to be declared stable. The doctor, when non-FBI persons were present, talked about occupational therapy, places Carlton could go to learn how to deal with his new blindness, counseling.

He listened impassively, wondering how he would cope if this were real, and knowing he'd be lost, and lost fast, and lost deep.

But then Juliet would come in, and he'd hear her voice. Usually he'd detect her pleasant scent first, when she approached without speaking ahead of time.

He'd discovered… or _re_discovered… how much he _liked_ her voice, and her soft laughter.

It was softer now, because they couldn't afford to be heard by anyone they didn't know was on their side, but it was a lovely sound at any volume.

She often touched his hand, or held it outright, and he liked that too. He knew she was only calming him, because this was a form of incarceration for him, playing sick, but he didn't mind.

He could hear in her voice the things she didn't want to say, and that was another reason he wanted to get home: with the bandages off and no one else around, he'd be able to look into her eyes and know if she was dodging without her having to say a single word.

The TV news, when he could find the remote and its volume button, let him know she was still being talked about. He'd refused to grant any interviews or make a statement, but that had the unfortunate effect of causing further speculation on their part.

"I should make a statement," he said as he accepted a still-warm doughnut, as if they'd been talking about that instead of her annoyance with the rude cabbie.

"No you shouldn't."

He heard her pull the chair up closer to the bed. "It's killing me."

"I know, and I'm sorry. But it's not about you now; it's about me. Berman said the more speculation about me—about us—the better I look as a… contender."

_I don't want you looking like a contender_.

"One thing just worked out," she added too casually. "Shawn was waiting for me outside. I'm sure some people saw us talking, so when I go out drinking after I leave here, it'll play into the master plan."

Carlton cut through all that. "How did it go?"

"He might still be a problem, but I—"

"I mean, how are you? About him?"

He wanted to know. It was none of his business, but he wanted her to be all right.

Juliet sighed. "I'm fine. Thank you. Breaking up with him actually… freed me. I feel better knowing I'm… I don't know, _sane_ again? It was liberating. I care about him and I wish things were different, but honestly, what I wish was different… is _Shawn_. I wish I could know him after he grows up."

At 36, Spencer seemed an unlikely candidate for late-onset maturity, but Carlton thought better of expressing that viewpoint aloud. Still, he understood her meaning. Spencer's intelligence and perceptiveness, coupled with actual adult behavior and decision-making, could actually make him a good mate for… well, not for Juliet; she would always deserve better. But for someone, yes.

Someone in another state, preferably.

Or Canada; they'd take anyone.

**. . . .**

**. . .**

Juliet started 'drinking' that afternoon. The bar they'd chosen was within walking distance of the hospital, allowing her to be seen on the way to and from, and she took cabs home. It was also close enough to Carlton's condo that after he was discharged, it wouldn't be unreasonable for her to keep going there.

Over the last few days, reporters occasionally approached her near the hospital, but she'd wave them off with a curt reminder that even without a weapon she could defend herself. (To one man she said, "After what I've done, it seems to me that punching paparazzi would get me back on the force _faster_.")

They didn't bother her in the bar. No one bothered her in the bar. The bartenders, regardless of what they thought of their customers (and at least one knew who she was; she could see it in his body language when he served her), didn't tolerate their customers being interrupted on their paths to semi-oblivion.

She wasn't on that path, but she liked the relative peace there nearly as much as the time she spent with Carlton: he was her refuge now.

He'd been clean-shaven that morning.

"I was getting used to the new beard," she told him.

"I asked the orderly to do it." He ran one hand over his smooth face. "I've never had anyone else shave me before."

It was part of the plan anyway, for him not to do his own shaving, but Juliet was sure he felt more normal without the fuzz. Even if she'd kind of liked it. Even if she felt a tickle of jealousy that the _orderly_ got to touch his face.

The first few days of the week, she spent an hour in the bar after visiting Carlton. She went back to him after dinner, and stopped in the bar after that. Patterns, Berman and Fuller reminded her. It was all about establishing patterns.

(She intended to be reimbursed for the liquor, however, especially as so much of it was being poured surreptitiously into plants and trashcans. She couldn't afford to not be completely alert when she was approached.)

_Make your move soon_, she silently pleaded to… to whomever was going to approach her. The waiting was getting more difficult.

For Carlton, too; Wednesday morning was the day _he'd_ been anticipating.

She was there at his side when the doctor came in with a nurse and announced it was time to take the bandages off. He warned Carlton that he would likely see nothing given the damage to the optic nerve, and Carlton nodded.

Juliet wasn't sure who the performance was for, but at this point, everything was an act, and the stage was getting bigger.

Carlton played his part well: tense and then resigned, gruff and then silent as he 'understood' he couldn't see. He put his hands to his eyes and sighed, and Juliet reached out to pull one down into her grasp briefly.

The doctor and witness…er, nurse… left them alone, and Juliet circled to the other side of the bed to block anyone's view of Carlton from the door.

The few seconds gave her an opportunity to assess how unexpectedly happy she was to see his big blue eyes again. No, not just unexpectedly happy… shocked happy. Unsteady happy.

"Nice to see you again," she managed to murmur, and he looked at her directly, a faint smile softening the lean planes of his face.

"Same old me." But his gaze narrowed as he studied her. "You look tired."

"I am," she admitted. No point in trying to lie to this man. "It's a hard life, taking taxicabs to bars and hospitals, drinking and chatting."

Carlton wasn't fooled. "Don't con me, O'Hara."

"Waste of time, isn't it? Anyway, you're out of here tomorrow. Once I can start hiding at your condo, I'll have more time to relax."

"You won't relax."

"It'll be better, though, behind closed doors."

He nodded. "For both of us. Berman swept my place?"

They had to make sure it wasn't bugged once he took up residence there again and she accepted the 'job offer' they were expecting. It was reasonable to assume DiMera's people would want to keep an eye (and ear) on her, if not Carlton, and they absolutely needed to know if they were being overheard. The FBI would be checking her place too but she already knew she'd mostly be with Carlton.

A thought which was more appealing than ever before, truthfully.

She assured him her communications from Berman were all green lights, and he relaxed a little.

"Be careful, partner." He reached for her hand and squeezed it—and that wasn't like him, to initiate contact.

Juliet promised him she would, and thought his eyes were the most beautiful shade of blue she'd ever seen in her life.

Then she pulled herself together, thrust his new dark glasses at him along with a warning to keep them on at all times, and went on her way to continue Phase 2.

At the bar, while waiting for the bartender to hand over the glass of amber liquid, she couldn't get over the sensation—a pure and simple _female_ reaction—to seeing his face, to looking into those eyes as he clasped her hand… as he looked _into_ her.

_No he didn't, you idiot. You're just worn out and stressed out and freaked out. _

_And stupid._

He would be released on Thursday, and she had promised to bring the best cab in town to collect him. (She could have bummed transportation from Buzz but Carlton said no; it would make Buzz too happy and he wasn't ready for Happy!Buzz yet.)

Right now, there was public drinking to be done.

She found a table in a fairly direct line of sight from the door. As always, she didn't want to be conspicuous, but she didn't want to skulk either. Undercover operation or not, she didn't want any living soul to think she couldn't handle herself.

The first drink went down fast and smooth; that one was for her. The real Juliet under all the acting.

The second one she sipped, as she contemplated the blue of Carlton's eyes. The many shades of blue and the many ways his emotions changed their hue. He could be so cold, and then he could be so vulnerable. He could show nothing at all, and then, for a fraction of a second, _everything_. He could stare at her, searching her expression, trying to make sense of whatever she was telling him (usually when she was suggesting a calmer way to deal with a situation), and never have a clue how much he revealed—from faint self-doubt to arrogance to uncertainty.

And oh, his eyes when he was laughing. Never did he look more Irish than when he was laughing, and sometimes, startlingly and just for an instant, his eyes took on a green cast which she found utterly captivating. _That's the Irishman in you, Carlton_. The relaxed, comfortable, and yet endlessly complex Carlton.

_You could have _lost_ him five weeks ago._

Dammit. Her eyes were suddenly burning.

_You could have lost him five weeks ago, and you never would have known until the hospital notified you as his official next of kin._

She finished the drink too quickly, and blew her nose.

A man at the bar turned to glance at her… no, to study her.

He was thin and polished and gray, dressed in jeans and a black turtleneck, and she was pretty sure he was one of the men in the set of photos Berman & Fuller had shown them of DiMera's crew.

Juliet glared at him—because she didn't know him, right?—and he smiled knowingly before turning away again as if she meant nothing.

_But tomorrow, he'll approach. _

_Tomorrow, it really begins._

She got up abruptly and left.

**. . . .**

**. . .**


	4. Chapter 4: Set 'Em Up

**CHAPTER FOUR: Set 'Em Up**

**. . . .**

**. . . **

Carlton, alone again, took the glasses off to study the room properly. He'd been wrong about the blue walls—these were pale yellow. The linoleum was discolored where he'd felt its unevenness, suggesting water damage; he'd have to report that.

He grinned privately: maybe he could say he _psychically_ sensed it.

It was good to have the scratchy bandages off but now his job would be harder: the sunglasses were crucial, so someone staring directly at him wouldn't be able to easily tell he was faking it.

Despite his bewilderment that anyone thought his eyes were remarkable at all, he did accept they often revealed more than he liked. He assumed it was because they were large, and he had worked hard throughout his life to develop The Steely Eye (rather than the I'm Your Best Buddy Eye) to keep often-mystifying people from figuring out that he didn't… always… know what the hell he was doing.

Juliet had seldom been fooled by The Steely Eye.

He lapsed into worrying about her now. They'd expected she'd have to spend a couple days in a row at the designated bar; the odds of DiMera's man pitching a deal to her on Day One were pretty low. Even if Jacott, the FBI's inside guy, had already sold them on the idea of Juliet as their hitwoman, they'd take a little time to scope her out for themselves.

It's what _he'd_ do, anyway, if he were a criminal scumbag worthless good-for-nothing despicable lowlife mob type kinda guy.

_Relax. Or at least stop thinking about it for thirty seconds._

_Think about seeing her smiling face just now. Think about the idiot move you made taking her hand like that. Think about… _

_Hell. Go back to worrying, because _mooning_ over her might just be worse._

He had the glasses back on about one second before Henry Spencer tapped on the door.

_Crap on a hospital cracker. Trial by fire already?_

"Lassiter." Henry sounded half-cheerful, half-hesitant. "It's Henry Spencer."

"Henry," he said cordially, turning his head in that direction.

"I heard you said no visitors, but…" He trailed off.

"But you didn't think that applied to you?"

Henry grinned and looked sheepish; Carlton didn't react. "Yeah, maybe. Shawn's been worried about you and he figured I'd have a better chance of getting in than he would."

The FBI guys were doing their jobs well, keeping Junior at bay, but neither Carlton nor Juliet had warned them about Senior.

"You can tell him I'm… doing as well as can be expected." As for him being _worried_ about Carlton… _yeah right_. _More like frustrated at being shut out_.

"Don't worry," Henry assured him. "I know the last thing you need is Shawn hanging around up here. I'll keep him away. How you doing apart from… the vision thing?"

"Achy," he lied. "But it's getting better. Head hurts. A big enough whack to screw up my eyes is more than a few Excedrin can handle."

Folding his arms across his chest, Henry let out a sigh. "Is it permanent? The blindness?"

Pause. "Most likely."

_Huh_, he thought. This was the first direct big lie he'd told to someone he actually knew—had known for _years_—and for damn sure it didn't taste right.

_It's for the job._

Didn't help.

"Sorry, man." Henry briefly clasped his shoulder. "I know there's a lot to be worked out but you can call on me. You can call on most anyone at the station. A lot of people besides me and Shawn are rooting for you. Juliet too. You know that, right?"

He wasn't good with people being nice to him, and his automatic defense—a snarky remark about the man's offspring—would be wrong, because he knew Henry was sincere. For that matter, Spencer Jr. was sincere too in his own way; it was just that his 'way' drove Carlton insane.

"Yeah. Thanks."

"How's Juliet holding up? When the cameras catch her she's not looking too… swift."

_That_ he'd known just from her voice, no matter how she tried to hide the stress. "She'll find her way. She has safe harbor here."

He could see Henry's smile out of the corner of his eye and knew his meaning was clear. He wanted someone to know—no matter how false the situation—that it would take more than something like this to make him give up on his partner.

He wanted someone to know Juliet would always have a friend in him.

And just for a second, he was pretty sure Henry was making it clear he had a friend in _him_.

**. . . .**

**. . .**

Carlton's discharge on Thursday afternoon went smoothly. Sunglasses on, he grouchily planted himself in the wheelchair and allowed the orderly to push him down to the main entrance.

There, Juliet took his elbow as he rose, murmuring quiet instructions about what obstacles were coming up. The doctor had put bandages over his eyes under the glasses to help maximize the appearance and movement of a newly blind man entering an unfamiliar world, so Carlton did actually need her help right now.

"The cab's at the curb," she said. "One step down."

He followed her lead, and avoided hitting his head as he slid into the cab. She closed the door and went around to the other side to join him, and gave his address to the driver.

It felt like she was sitting close to him. Like she might be in the middle of the seat. He didn't mind, and when the little voice reprimanding him for unprofessional conduct muttered about _how it might look_, he muttered back that if the driver knew who they were at all, he also thought they were both _ex_-cops, and she could sit as close as she damn well pleased.

"I went by this morning and checked out your fridge," she said. "I'll go shopping for you later once you tell me what you'd like for the next few days."

"You don't have to—" he automatically began.

"Hush," she automatically interrupted, and covered his hand with hers.

He clasped it, thinking this was the most curious and illicit of freedoms, playing up their closeness because it's what the assignment called them to do.

Juliet sighed—a pleased sigh—and leaned against his shoulder.

Definitely not on her side of the car.

Unless this cab was a Yugo.

Carlton smiled. Perks came in all varieties.

**. . . .**

**. . .**

Juliet helped Carlton out of the cab and up the steps into Prospect Gardens. Keeping her hand firmly at his elbow, she didn't have to tell him much: clearly he already knew the lay of _this_ land by heart. He even stopped in front of the elevator before she could tell him they were there.

"You _sure_ you can't see?"

He smirked (she'd missed that, oddly). "I believe in planning for every contingency, including blackouts. Can't waste valuable time smacking into things on my way out to restore order to a panicking city."

"Fair enough," she agreed with a laugh, remembering how he'd once admitted to building up a tolerance to chloroform over many years _just in case_. In the elevator, she teased, "Got the floor buttons memorized too?"

Another smirk, but fainter. He reached out and traced the buttons with his long fingers, and settled on 5 within a few seconds.

"Not bad. Want to handle the walk down the hall on your own?"

He turned his head and seemed to glare at her. "Just keep hold of the elbow, O'Hara."

She was glad to.

But the warmth faded, because they found Shawn sitting on the floor outside Carlton's condo door.

At the sound of his greeting, Carlton stiffened, and Juliet was vastly relieved he had bandages over his eyes—the sunglasses alone would not be enough to hide how he felt.

"Lassiter," Shawn said, getting up and approaching. "I know you think I'm intruding but I really did want to see how you were doing."

_Huh_, Juliet thought; _he used Carlton's full surname_.

She kept hold of his elbow.

"I appreciate your concern, Spencer." His voice was cool.

Shawn looked between her and Carlton, his body language suggesting caution, hesitation. This was unusual. But then he'd probably never had to deal with a situation like this, where people he thought he had figured out suddenly took an unexpected and wildly wrong turn in the road.

"You look pretty good." He amended, "I mean. Considering the car accident. I heard there was a lot of blood."

"The airbag protected him," Juliet explained. "But the car slammed into the tree…" She hesitated.

"At the passenger door," Carlton continued. "No side airbag. My head took the brunt of it, or so they tell me."

"Still," Shawn said, too carefully, "I thought there'd be… swelling."

Alarms were going off in Juliet's mind, and she was once again hugely grateful Shawn couldn't see Carlton's eyes—he at least seemed _outwardly_ calm. She hoped to God _she_ did.

"I assumed there _was_ swelling," Carlton said, and sounded surprised, "judging by the amount of ibuprofen I've popped since Friday."

_Brilliant_. Juliet gave him a considering look, and then said to Shawn, "You should have seen him over the weekend."

Shawn was a bit huffy. "I _tried_, remember?"

Carlton ignored that, turning to look in Juliet's general direction. "I _asked_ you if I looked bad and you said no."

"No, you asked if you looked like a tanker full of ferrets had been dropped on your face, and I said it was more like a sumo wrestler in a Chevy S-10."

He snorted, and for a second she forgot Shawn was even there. "My mistake." Facing Shawn again, he said with a trace of the old acid, "I'm sorry there's not more visible damage. The nurses said I have some impressive bruises on my arms and side. Do you want me to strip off and let you see?"

Maybe it was more than a _trace_, she thought, and fought the grin threatening to break out.

Shawn was quick to decline. "No, thanks. Really, _really_ not necessary. I guess I just expected worse because…"

They waited.

He shrugged. "I don't know. This is unfamiliar territory for me. For all of us."

Juliet gave it a few more seconds. "Okay, well, I'd really like to get him inside. He needs to rest."

"Thanks for your concern," Carlton said again, and sounded as if he very nearly meant it.

Shawn put his hands in his pockets. "Okay then. So I'll bring Gus by later and we'll—"

Carlton and Juliet said "_No!_" in unison.

Shawn grinned. "Yeah. You're gonna be all right."

He touched Carlton's arm as he passed, and Juliet practically dragged Carlton down to his condo, shoving the key in the lock before the elevator doors had fully closed behind Shawn.

**. . . .**

**. . .**

"Son of a bitch," he breathed when they were inside.

"He means well."

It was her usual excuse for him, but didn't explain why he distinctly heard the sound of the deadbolt sliding home.

"This time, yeah." He took off the glasses and started to tug at the bandages.

"Stop it." She stilled his hand, which stilled him. "Not yet. You knew how many steps to the elevator, so now show me you know _this_ place."

His natural willingness to strut his stuff kicked in. He put the glasses back on with a grin, backed up to the door unerringly, and stopped for a second to reacclimate himself to the feel of his home.

Then, counting silently, he walked a straight path past the table, the sofa, and down the hall leading to the bathroom.

From behind, Juliet laughed. "Very nice. Now find your office."

From the bathroom doorway, he counted the paces to the office, the room across from his bedroom. The door should be closed, he thought, and put his hand out to find the smooth expanse of wood just as expected.

"Okay, Detective, you want to really impress me? Find the kitchen!"

A little trickier, but with only one bump to the wall when he made the right turn up near the front door, he got there, feeling more than a little smug.

He turned around to tell her to never doubt the value of his paranoid ways, but she was right there, soft and warm, _oof_ing a little as he barreled into her.

They ended up clutching each others' arms, and for a second or maybe three they froze, so very close, so very close that he was unutterably glad she couldn't see his whole face.

"Sorry," he breathed.

"My fault," she said, laughing a bit now. "I didn't expect you to turn so fast."

But she wasn't pulling away, and suddenly Carlton didn't want to move from that spot _at all._

Ever.

_Collect yourself._

Without letting go of her—because he… just… _couldn't_—he managed to say something coherent about being too arrogant, so sure of where he was going that he missed what was behind him.

She seemed to understand him, and loosened her grip on his upper arms.

Reluctantly, he gentled his hold on her as well. "_Now_ can the bandages come off?"

"Now the bandages can come off."

He slipped the sunglasses into his shirt pocket, but before he could do anything else, Juliet reached up and began carefully removing the adhesive from his temples. He was immediately and totally enthralled by having her warm fingertips on his skin, especially since she was still standing close enough for him to feel her body heat.

_Breathing. Don't forget how to do that._

"Am I hurting you?"

"No," he managed. _God no_.

In another moment he was face-to-face with her, and damn if she wasn't blushing a little. The hall was dim and his eyes still needed to adjust, but he knew she was, and it set his own face back on 'low heat.'

"There you are," she murmured, and damn _again_ if she didn't stroke his temple, fingertips brushing his hairline. "All ocean-blue wonder."

Oh, he was wondering all right. Wondering if she'd still think he was tough if he passed out.

He couldn't even talk. He just looked at her, occasionally breathing, and Juliet let her hand rest against his face, warm and gentle.

"I'm so glad you're all right."

He blinked, coming back to reality. "Of course I'm all right. It wasn't a real—"

"I'm talking about six weeks ago." There was an unhappy edge to her voice, and she dropped her hand, taking a step away.

"O'Hara, come on. That's ancient history."

She swallowed, and nodded. "Okay. Let's go make a list of what you need in the way of food." Moving past him briskly into the kitchen, she effectively closed the window of The Moment… the zone they'd been in, and Carlton pulled himself together. They were working. _That_ was the main zone to remember.

**. . . .**

**. . .**

Juliet stayed with Carlton long enough for the grocery list to be made—nothing major, nothing she couldn't get back there in one trip—and issued the reminders she needed to issue.

_No using the Internet unless I'm here: newly blind men don't check email. If you have the TV on, make it something you don't need to _watch_, like a news channel. Don't do anything you can't do with your eyes shut_.

He'd scoffed, reminding her he wasn't actually blind.

She retorted that for the purposes of their assignment, he _was_, and had to act like a newly blind person would act. If that weird little boy from down the hall came eavesdropping at the door, he shouldn't be able to tell his weird little parents that the cranky cop guy was doing anything they wouldn't reasonably expect a newly blind and possibly depressed man to be doing.

Carlton grudgingly agreed, and admitted he had a new Civil War biography to read, promising he wouldn't let anyone in until his glasses were firmly in place (and the book was safely back on the shelf).

Juliet understood, for her own part, that she was more nervous than she should have been—because before she went to the grocery store, she was going back to the bar for her assigned daily drinking session.

This was on her mind even before she stepped outside Prospect Gardens, and it royally pissed her off to find Shawn at the curb, leaning against the Blueberry and talking to Gus.

"Juliet!" Gus said, pleased to see her.

"Hi, Gus. Shawn, what are you doing here?"

"Waiting for you to come out, of course. We figured you had to eventually."

"_I'm_ only here because he asked me to come pick him up," Gus corrected. "There is no 'we.' I told him I was giving him ten more minutes and then I had to get back to my route."

Juliet glared at Shawn. "What?"

"Need a ride somewhere?" he asked magnanimously.

"No, thanks. I've called for a cab."

"Call to cancel. We'll take you anywhere you want to go."

Gus looked uncomfortable. "As long as it's within a few miles. I really do have to get back to my route."

Juliet managed a smile for _him_. "I'm fine. You guys can go now."

Shawn stepped closer, earnest again. "Jules. We want to help you."

"I know, and I appreciate your intent. But right now, I don't _need_ anything."

"Okay, I can see you're really stressed out, but don't resist the attempts of a friend to… to be a friend."

For a moment her old tendencies to forgive him his pushiness begged her to let them out for a run in No-Spine City, but she ruthlessly shoved them back in their cage.

Counting to ten, she merely looked at him.

His eyebrows went up. "Jules?"

She gave it another ten.

"Lassie looks really good," he said casually, as if her silence was merely a cue for him to talk more. "Came down that hallway like he'd just been out for a brisk run."

_Here_ was where her acting was most important. "You understand he was in a serious collision, right? And he's Carlton, a guy who hates to show weakness?"

Shawn frowned. "He has no weakness. Except snowglobes."

"Right. A weakness you exploit and mock as often as you can. The point is, he's exhausted. He got inside his condo and barely made it to his bed before he was out cold. He's bruised from top to bottom, he has killer headaches, and he's freaking _blind_, Shawn. Everything about his life has been ripped to shreds, and today, making it down that hallway and talking to you against his will was the biggest accomplishment he could hope for. What the hell do you _want_ him to look like?"

He was cowed, and Gus actually stepped back, moving slowly around to the driver's side of the car.

The cab pulled up, and Juliet headed toward it fast.

But before she opened the bright yellow door, she called back to Shawn, "And for the record, I'm _ashamed_ of myself for not slapping you across your smug face when you made that smartass remark about him having died when Dozier hit us."

In the cab, door pulled closed, she tersely gave the cabbie the bar's address, and made a mental note to tell Berman and Fuller they'd have to do a better job keeping Shawn out of the way. Maybe it was time for Vick to loan Psych out to some other city for a consult. Bangor, Maine had murders, right?

_Breathe. _

Even though it was a bad idea, she let herself relive those lovely moments with Carlton earlier. The unexpected thrill of being nearly in his arms when they collided; the unstoppable need she'd had to touch him, to stay close to him.

The look in his mesmerizing blue eyes. He _was_ searching her soul. He _had_ to be.

It was smart, if unintentional, that she'd wrecked it by mentioning the Dozier collision. Forcing them to remember they were on assignment. Forcing _her_, anyway. She had no idea what he thought.

_Liar: you saw what was in those eyes. He wanted you._

Yeah, he did. She smiled privately.

But. They. Were. Working.

And she could not, in all honesty, say whether these new feelings (_new_?) were totally legit, or were because of their very confusing and stressful task on top of her discovery of her Dozier screwup.

More importantly, she should not be thinking about this _right now_.

She paid the cabbie, looked around for the Blueberry, and finding the coast clear, entered the dim bar.

**. . . .**

**. . .**


	5. Chapter 5: Proposition

**CHAPTER FIVE: Proposition**

**. . . .**

**. . .**

She had been at her table about ten minutes, making the first drink last, before the man slid into the seat opposite hers.

This time of day the bar was nearly empty, and he'd only glanced at her when she came in. But she knew he was aware, and figured he knew she was aware as well.

Close-up, she could see lines on his face, and put him in his late fifties, with an urbane cast to his features. His eyes were hazel like Shawn's, and he surveyed her for a moment without speaking.

"I'm surprised you have the nerve to do your drinking in public," he finally said, as if he were actually interested.

Juliet deliberately took another sip. "I'm surprised you don't know I don't talk to reporters."

He smiled. "I'm not a reporter."

"I also don't talk to so-called journalists, features writers, bloggers, church newsletter columnists, Twitter users or documentarians."

His smile never changed. "I am in no way, shape or form a writer. I don't even do my own grocery lists."

Juliet had another sip, this one larger. "Internal Affairs, then?"

Now he chuckled. "Why would Internal Affairs be interested in you _now_? Seems to me they got everything they needed last Friday afternoon when you destroyed your career all by yourself."

She took a breath. "Do you _need_ me to tell you to go to hell, or can we consider it said?"

"I read between the lines," he assured her. "So what's the answer to my question? About why you're not nursing your sorrows privately?"

"Because at home, there's no one to make me stop." She raised her glass and finished off its contents.

The man looked over his shoulder to get the bartender's attention. "This one's on me."

"Yeah? Thanks. Now who the hell are you?"

He waited until the bartender had brought over another shot for her. "I'm a…"

"Don't you dare say friend," she snapped.

He laughed. "I wouldn't presume. Let's say I'm a concerned citizen who has the ability to help you out."

Juliet widened her eyes in mock excitement. "Oh! You know, I've been _hoping_ someone with a time machine would walk in here. That's the only damn way anybody can help _me_ now."

Clearly, he only found her amusing. "Bitterness becomes you, but can we move past that? Your partner's in a bad place, and my information says he's likely to remain there given the limitations of his finances and your insurance provider."

She glared at him. "I'm supposed to believe you know the contents of both his medical charts and his bank account?"

He said silkily, "Yes. As well as yours, Ms. O'Hara."

Despite the whole assignment thus far being designed to lead up to this very conversation, she was still pissed off. "Who _are_ you?"

"I work for a man who can help you solve your problem, if you solve one for him."

"Who. Are. You."

He sighed. "I'm called Hugo."

She had already figured it out, running through the dossiers in her mind: he was Hugo Nardi, high up in DiMera's crew.

"Hugo, I'm not having sex with your boss."

Hugo laughed outright. "That's not the kind of problem he has."

"Okay, stop right where you are. Up until last Friday afternoon I was considered a cop with a damn good service record. Why in the hell would you think I'd want to help out your boss—who I'm pretty sure is Jacky DiMera—when everything else about my life has been shattered? I still have a cell phone, you know. I can get a squad car here in five minutes."

"And say what? A man bought you a drink and commiserated with you about your partner's situation?"

She glared.

"My dear angry detective, turning me in for _nearly_ making you an offer you won't be able to refuse isn't going to help anyone. Least of all Carlton Lassiter."

She went on glaring.

Hugo smiled. "Your law enforcement career here is over. You might get hired on as a security guard somewhere, but otherwise it's the civilian life for you. His career, on the other hand, is _truly_ over. Granted, a blind person can lead a perfectly productive life, but I know as much about him as I do about you, and what's far more likely in his case is that late one night, he'll get intimately acquainted with one of his many, many firearms."

Although in her heart she knew she would never let Carlton get to that point if this were real, she was still chilled. "Don't you _ever_ say anything like that again to _anyone_."

Shrugging, he sipped his own murky drink. "There's no reason he shouldn't have every chance to make a full recovery, and my employer can help make it happen with an infusion of monies which would allow the exploration of those potential treatments."

"Then spit it out already," she demanded.

His gaze was cold. Knowing. She hated him.

"Remove a murderer from the general population."

"Remove." She took a slug of her drink, needing the cold to keep her on edge.

"I'm sure we understand each other." So smooth.

"Really."

"You obviously know something about the man I work for. I assume you also know he's never been accused of anything as horrific as… _removing_ anyone. The 'problem' he'd like to have eradicated is the worst of the worst. There's no comparison, really."

"Then do it yourself."

Hugo grinned again. "There are times when distance from a situation is by far the best strategy."

"Such as me putting distance between the two of us," she suggested icily.

"You could do that. You could easily walk away from this conversation, go back to the partner whose career you selfishly destroyed, and know that not only have you refused an opportunity to make it right, but that as a result, a cold-blooded murderer will still walk the streets _you_ no longer have the authority to keep safe." He stood up.

Juliet looked at him, silent.

He finished his drink and set the glass down on the table. "You _could_ do that," he repeated. "The question is, _will_ you? Will you cast your… _beloved_… partner aside so easily?"

She froze. There was no mistaking his meaning… _beloved_.

"I'll come by tomorrow to find out." He fished twenty dollars out of his wallet, deposited it on the table, and strolled away into the bright afternoon.

**. . . .**

**. . .**

Carlton heard the key in the lock and immediately felt both better and agitated.

_She's back... I missed her._

_She's back... and I might act like an idiot again._

He stood away from the door to make sure she was alone, and having established this to his satisfaction, took the two bags from her arms and led the way to the kitchen.

But once there, he set the bags down and faced her again. "How did it go?"

She looked exhausted, and he wanted to scoop her into his arms. This wasn't a new feeling by any means… but it was new to think that now she might just let him.

"He made the pitch. Hugo Nardi." She pushed a stray lock of hair behind her ear. "I think I did a good job of seeming offended without closing the door."

Carlton knew the name; Hugo was DiMera's primary pitchman. "What's next?"

"We meet tomorrow so I can give my answer." She reached past him and pulled a wad of letters and cards out of the closest bag. "I picked up your mail."

While he was in the hospital she'd opened greeting cards for him, and described the various flowers and other niceties people had sent along. By unspoken agreement, they hadn't dwelled on these things. It was hard enough for him to accept shows of kindness when he _needed_ them; so knowing these people would feel foolish and betrayed when the truth came out made it even harder.

"Open it," he suggested, and began putting groceries away.

She was tired enough to agree, sitting on a stool at the breakfast bar and sorting through the envelopes.

"Bill, bill, sales pitch. Card from Patricia Allen."

"She'll always be Sergeant to me," he muttered.

Juliet laughed lightly. "I think she secretly likes you. Look, there's a tiny crystal in here, blue to match your eyes."

He chose to ignore that.

"And a note. It says, '_Dear Detective Lassiter, I know you can't read this yourself but I wanted to tell you the spirits say you have it in you to rise above any calamity. I will light candles for you. Please keep this crystal close_.'"

She looked at him expectantly, her amusement barely hidden.

Carlton sighed. "Okay, fine. She's... not... _that_ bad."

Juliet laughed outright. "I detect progress. Oh, here's one from Lyin' Ryan!"

"Hmm. I can't wait."

"The card's pretty funny. Got a squirrel on it."

He shot her A Look.

"The note says he was so thankful you arrested him that he's planning to enter the police academy."

"_You're_ lying."

"No, that's _his_ job," she said with a grin.

"Well, he's another reason I'm glad we had a strict no-visitors policy." Shuddering, he wished he could_ forget_ the disturbingly direct offer Woody Strode had made to 'be his eyes… _all_ of them' in a phone call he'd gotten through by way of his medical credentials.

He was starting a pot of coffee when Juliet pushed an envelope across the counter toward him.

"Um, _you_ need to open that one."

It had been forwarded from his previous address. He glanced at the looping script and then back at Juliet, whose lovely face revealed nothing. He bet she'd been very convincing while talking to Hugo Nardi.

Why did he feel guilty that his ex-wife had sent him a card?

For sure he didn't want to open it. As pissed off as Victoria was during their marriage, finding out in a few weeks that this was all a big con wasn't going to make their divorce any more amicable. (Plus, he'd never gotten around to telling her he'd moved, so that wouldn't help, either.)

He was still looking at the envelope, undecided, when Juliet slid off the stool and headed for the hall.

"Hey."

She turned. "I'll be back. I need to check in with Berman."

Carlton said slowly, "Wait."

Juliet hesitated, and her dark blue eyes were troubled.

"Please. Juliet."

At the sound of her name—not _O'Hara_, but her _name_—she seemed to relax, and returned to her stool.

Carlton opened the envelope and cast aside the card with its sunny garden picture. Without any particular intonation, he read the words on the enclosed sheet of pink paper.

"_To whomever reads this for Carlton—I did try to visit as soon as I heard about the accident, but found I could not get through, even by phone. Please tell Carlton I am thinking about him, remembering his beautiful eyes, and hoping for the best. Please ask him to get in touch after he's released, as I would really like to talk to him_._"_

Her phone number was included. He set the note down and looked up at Juliet, who was sitting very quietly, her expression unreadable.

After a pause, he swiftly tore the note in two.

"Wait!" she protested. "Don't do that."

"Why not?"

"Carlton, she was part of your life and she's reaching out. You at least have to... to acknowledge she contacted you."

He was puzzled: her words were those of a genuinely warm-hearted person, but her eyes said something else. He simply couldn't tell exactly what it was.

Well, if she wanted to be inscrutable, he could try too. He stuffed the torn halves back into the envelope and put it on top of the stack of other cards.

"Anyway, she recognizes beautiful eyes when she sees them, so she can't be all bad." She said it with a small smile, and turned away to get down off the stool again.

But when she was close enough—her attention on the coffee mugs—he caught her arm lightly.

With his heart at a near-standstill, he said, "The one with the beautiful eyes is _you_, Juliet."

Color flooded her face. "Oh. I... thank you."

He let go of her, and suggested they start dinner, and after a moment, she agreed it would be nice, and he allowed himself to pretend she didn't think he was a dork.

**. . . .**

**. . .**

Juliet let Carlton cook; he mixed up pasta and chicken while she worked on a salad and cut up fruit for dessert, and afterwards they gravitated to his sofa.

She watched a medical drama—she wasn't in the mood for a cop show tonight—and he went through the waiting messages on his phone, a frown creasing his forehead most of the time.

"What's the problem?"

He glanced at her, chagrined. "Everyone's being so damn nice."

Juliet laughed. "Why is that so puzzling?"

"Because people don't like me, O'Hara! I'm a cold bastard who pushes everyone away; you know that."

She sang, "_I'm obnoxious and disliked; you know that, sir_."

His eyes widened. "Excuse me?"

"Sorry, it's a line from a musical."

"_1776_, I know. I just didn't know _you_ knew."

He was smiling, and Juliet was surprised at how happy it made her to surprise _him_ with something so small. "It's got the best dialogue," she said.

"Yes, it does."

She tilted her head and studied him. "Do _you_ feel like John Adams sometimes? The lone voice striving for the greater good, but hampered by people's perceptions of you?"

He didn't react, except that the blue of his eyes seemed to deepen.

"No one who called you, Carlton, or emailed you, or sent you a card, is only _pretending_ to like you."

Carlton got up abruptly. "The liking only goes up to a point." He fussed with the curtains at the window, his back to her now. "And I don't mind, you know. I'm used to it and it gives me a lot of freedom, not having to play nice all the time. I can get more work done. Put more bad guys in jail."

"I know. And you do that well. But here's the thing. While you've been over there safe behind the wall you built, some people have had the unmitigated gall to like you anyway."

He glanced at her, flushed. "More fool they."

She felt a flash of irritation—at him for not seeing, but also at those who had hurt him in the past. "Then more fool me."

"I didn't mean—"

"It's all right. I know I'm one of the rare exceptions in your life." Something she was proud of.

"The rarest," he murmured, and returned to his end of the sofa, ignoring her knowing smile.

She had already checked in with Berman on the secure phone he'd given her, and really, she should go home now, if not back to the bar to maintain the drinking routine. But she was so tired, and honestly so very comfortable in Carlton's place, on Carlton's sofa, almost able to feel the warmth of him from where she sprawled. If she moved her foot six inches, she could touch his thigh.

But then if she touched his thigh, she'd only end up in his lap in short order, so... maybe not.

He turned off the TV in mid-ad. "Just close your eyes, Juliet," he said gently. "You're wiped out and you need some rest."

While she was protesting feebly, he rose and took the velvety blue throw off the back of the sofa, draping it over her with gentle ease.

"Quiet," he admonished. "There's a new toothbrush in the bathroom, left drawer. Help yourself to anything you need in the morning. I'll set out one of my t-shirts for you."

He was gone from the room, retreating to the kitchen, while she was thinking _I love that this throw carries your scent_ and drifting off to what became the best sleep she'd had in a long time.

**. . . .**

**. . .**

He emerged from his bedroom quietly, because he knew she was still sleeping. Her slim form was visible under the throw and her breathing seemed deep.

She'd had a hugely stressful week and a lot more alcohol than she was used to; whereas he essentially spent the week in bed. As much as his muscles were whimpering that they needed a good long run, he knew he could make it up again soon enough.

But Juliet still had a hard road ahead of her, and if letting her sleep a bit longer would help, he was all for it.

He padded to the kitchen, shoving his hands through his hair along the way, knowing it was an unruly mess but unable to care about that right now. He hadn't been allowed coffee in the hospital and yesterday's pot barely took the edge off his base need for caffeine.

Staring at the machine as the life-giving elixir dripped into the carafe, he heard sounds from the living room, and peered out to see Juliet shrugging off the throw and getting up slowly, heading down the hall to the bathroom.

_She will be naked in my shower_, came the unbidden thought, and right behind it a strong urge to bite his hand a la Lenny Kosnowski.

He settled for thudding his head against the freezer door a few times.

_Breakfast. Make breakfast. Eggs. Toast. Sausage links. Get cracking before you crack up._

Juliet appeared in the doorway a short while later, hair damp and skin rosy, wearing the long green tee he'd left for her over yesterday's jeans. "Good morning," she said, and looked utterly glorious.

He swallowed, and answered her greeting, thrusting a cup of coffee into her hands. "Scrambled?"

_Like my brain?_

"Sure. Thanks. But remember, if anyone asks, _I _made all this." Her smile was contagious, dammit, and he wanted her even more.

Juliet moved behind him to get napkins from the far counter, and on her way back, paused behind him to—_for the love of all that was holy_—run her fingers through the curling hair at the back of his neck.

Carlton froze and caught fire simultaneously.

"I've wanted to do that for awhile," she commented. "I like it all mussed up."

He'd forgotten his state of disarray. Also his name.

"Eggs," she said, and he hurriedly took the pan off the burner.

"I'm overdue for a haircut," he said as if he hadn't just had a stroke.

"No you're not. Let it grow out a little. In fact," she added with a wicked smile, "you _are_ letting it grow out a little, because for the foreseeable future you can't get to the barber without me, and I'm not taking you there."

Carlton stared at her. "You're holding my hair hostage?"

She laughed, and didn't deny. "I suppose you can call Shawn. Or maybe Woody. Either one of them would love to—"

"Shut it, O'Hara, or there'll be no breakfast for you."

More laughter, and yet he did not ravish her on the spot. Incredible.

They breakfasted out on his patio, the warm breeze a balm. He relaxed slowly, for coffee was king and this meal with his lovely friend and partner—_friend__ and __partner__, you hear that, Lassiter?_—was the best way to start the day.

"I'll go by my place later and check my own mail and crap," she said, face to the clear blue sky above. "Then I'll come back here for lunch before I go meet Hugo."

"You'll be careful," he said flatly.

"You know I will."

The light in her eyes—as if she had added _for you_ to her sentence—distracted him, and he scratched at his four-day beard restlessly. "I need to shave."

"You can't shave." She said it pleasantly.

"I can, and I will."

"No, you won't."

"You can say you did it for me," he protested.

Juliet was amused. "You'd let me close to your face with a razor?"

_I'd let you close to me with a black mamba snake._

"Yes, but I won't have to. I'll shave, you take credit."

"Nope." She was so serene.

"O'Hara. I am going to—"

"I'll tell you what," she interrupted. "If you can shave with your eyes closed, I'll let you do it."

"_Let_ me," he muttered. "Fine. If authenticity is that important with regard to facial hair, _fine_."

His crossness only amused her further, but the game was on. They dumped their empty plates in the kitchen and he made a beeline for the bathroom, getting out razor and shaving cream while she leaned against the doorframe and watched.

"Close your eyes," she admonished. "And no peeking."

"I won't have to peek. I've been shaving this stupid face every day for the last thirty years."

"I expect to be impressed, then, and I like your stupid face, so shut up."

He caught her glance in the mirror, and once again heat flared… everywhere.

But he closed his eyes tight. Shaving cream applied, razor at the ready.

"Old-fashioned," she observed. "The classic manual razor."

"Electric razors are for sissies," he shot back, and went to work.

With his eyes shut, and despite the scent of the shaving cream, he was still aware of her standing close, wearing his tee, and he didn't have to see the curve of her mouth to know she was smiling.

And gorgeous.

And his _partner_, who was working a dangerous case with him.

And so damn pretty.

He might as well have been staring directly at her. Drooling.

Shaving more slowly than he would normally, partly because his mind was on her naked body in his shower and partly because he didn't want to fail the test he'd set for himself, but mostly because his mind (_yeah, and not only your mind, bucko_) was on her naked body in his shower, he mapped the terrain of his jaw and chin with the razor until he was satisfied he'd done at least an acceptable job.

"Okay?"

"Hmm, almost," she said, from two inches away. "You can open your eyes."

His reflection showed him he'd done pretty well, but Juliet took the razor from his unresisting grasp and gently touched up a spot near his left ear, and one just under his jaw on the right. Then she dampened the hand towel and wiped the stray blobs of cream from his skin... and then he kissed her.

She dropped the towel and wound her arms around his neck, and he kissed her.

**. . . .**

**. . .**


	6. Chapter 6: Moving Fast

**CHAPTER SIX: Moving Fast**

**. . . .**

**. . .**

Carlton was so warm. She registered that as she kissed him.

The sheer heat of him, through his tee—through _hers_, because she was _never_ giving it up now—enveloped her from head to toe.

She really couldn't think; there was just feeling. His kiss was hungry: his mouth was hot and made for hers.

_Made for me._

Stroking his scalp, his wavy hair soft against her fingertips, she thrilled to the sensation of his hands sliding down her back, bringing her flush to his body, so close she couldn't tell whose pounding heart she was feeling, hers or his.

They moved, somehow, so she was pressed to the bathroom wall, and that was very good, because it helped her remain upright as her legs got weaker.

Carlton's breathing was ragged as he nuzzled her throat and her earlobe, and Juliet tilted her head back to allow his wonderful mouth to wander her skin.

_You should stop_, a voice said. _But you're not going to, are you?_

He caressed her breast through the cotton of her tee, and Juliet arched against his hand. When his mouth returned to hers, all fire and need, she grasped his hand and pulled it under her shirt, wanting him to touch her skin.

His eyes were deep blue hunger, but hers closed as the sensation of his fingertips brushing across her trembling flesh overtook her. Again his mouth closed over hers, and again they were locked together, bodies tight together.

_This should have happened a long time ago._

_You should stop_, the voice said again. _I'm obligated to tell you that_.

But she didn't have to stop, because he did.

**. . . .**

**. . .**

Carlton grasped her upper arms, resting his forehead against hers, and made himself… just… stop.

Every purely male atom of his body was shouting _you eeediot!_ at him, but he knew he _had to stop_.

"Please," he said hoarsely, unable to look at her. "Please just… let this… be."

Juliet put her shaking hands to his face and lifted his head, searching his eyes, or maybe his heart. Still out of breath herself, and flushed, and so unbelievably desirable, she traced his lips with her thumb for a mind-bending moment, and then let out a deep sigh.

"Okay."

"I'm sorry," he started.

"You said let it be. That means no apologies."

She let go of him, and he moved away from her, but it was freakishly difficult to do so.

He couldn't read her expression, not for sure, but he didn't detect anger. There was a trace of desire, and maybe frustration, but after a few more moments of mutual study, she said, "I'm… I'm going to take off for a while. I'll… be back for lunch." She hesitated. "And this will be fine, Carlton. It will." She turned before he could even complete a thought, and hurried down the hall.

After she'd collected her shoes and handbag and locked the front door behind her, Carlton finally found the strength to move, going back to his bedroom to sit on the edge of the bed, his head in his hands and his pulse still racing.

What the hell had he done?

That was, without exception, the best five minutes of his life, never to be topped, ever. Ever.

But something had wormed its way into his brain, amid the sparks and explosions and sizzling, and it was simple, a few words which kept repeating despite the sheer glory of kissing Juliet.

_Yesterday she felt guilty about Dozier._

He let the words reach full volume now, and they increased in number.

_Yesterday, when you were being pulled inexorably to kiss her, ill-advised as THAT was, what _she_ was thinking was that she felt guilty over Dozier_.

And she backed down then. She might have kissed him, had he pushed it, but she would have kissed him _because she felt guilty over the accident six weeks ago_.

He should never have told her. He should have kept his yap shut and let her think Ricki was flirting with him because they'd met at his doctor's office.

"You're an idiot," he said, out loud in his room.

Seven years they'd been partners. Three weeks, tops, since she'd broken it off with Spencer. Never a sign, in all that time, that she had any interest in him at all.

But once she—wrongly—assigned herself the blame for _his_ decision to put off getting medical attention, and this damn case got going, she suddenly… what? Cared? In 'that' way?

_I'm the Catholic. I'm the one who's supposed to operate on guilt. But she's got me beat by a mile._

Hell, maybe it was guilt which kept her with _Spencer_ so long; for sure she hadn't been very happy toward what he now knew was the end.

"Idiot," he hissed again.

Because now he'd screwed up everything.

**. . . .**

**. . .**

Juliet called a cab to meet her six blocks away, and walked as fast as she could, to burn off post-Carlton adrenalin—to burn off desire and misery both.

_You have to get yourself together, because you have to go back there. Before Hugo, after Hugo, and every day until this case is done. _

_You'll have to talk to him. Or figure out a way to make this okay without talking to him._

What was the definition of 'okay'?

The cabbie pulled up within a minute of her arrival and whisked her off to her place, where she bolted up the stairs and locked the door behind her, as if that could stop her thinking about all of this.

Dear God, kissing Carlton had been deliriously delicious, and there was still a thrumming in her skin, in her nerves, one she both hoped would pass and yet never fade. The lean and solid strength of his body pushing against hers, matched with the marvel of his lips and tongue and desperation—she yanked off the t-shirt he'd given her and pressed it to her face, for he'd touched her and wanted her and she could still taste how much she'd wanted him.

But he stopped it. Gently, reluctantly, and with finality.

_And what the hell were you doing anyway? What the hell have you been doing this entire _week_?_

_Working the case_, Defiant!Juliet snapped back. _We had to be close to show people our bond, to make people—_those_ people—believe I would kill a man to make amends for what I did to Carlton_.

_So that's called acting_, YouKnowBetter!Juliet shot back. _But no—you were playing handsies with him when there was _no one_ around. You were messing with his hair and praising his eyes and giving him signals when you had no right to do that. You were __leading him on_.

_No. He knows I wouldn't do that, because he knows me. _

_Yeah? Well, _you_ know _him_ too. So you know he'd never have kissed you if you hadn't set the stage so well_.

And now. Now what did he think of her? Of them?

She couldn't even imagine how awkward it would be when she got back, because if he hadn't shut down before she left his place, he was certainly locked up tighter than a bank vault now. There'd be no getting anything out of him. He'd be A Gentleman. A Business Associate.

They'd be worse off than when she callously ignored his concussion six weeks ago, and that hurt worse than anything else, because she'd sworn to rebuild their partnership, and now it might be damaged beyond repair.

_In that case_, Defiant!Juliet snarked, _you should just go back there and do him to get this out of your system_.

YouKnowBetter!Juliet had nothing to say at all.

**. . . .**

**. . .**

The name on the cell display was Karen Vick's, so Carlton answered; when she said she was close by and wanted to stop in, he grasped at the opportunity like a drowning man: she could distract him from obsessing over Juliet.

Still, he looked through the peephole to be sure she was alone, and put on the dark glasses before opening the door just in case one of the Farrows (or possibly the Turkle Twins) passed in the hall.

She was trim and businesslike as always, but once they were behind the locked door, she gave him a good onceover after he pocketed the sunglasses.

"You should look a lot more rested than you do."

Carlton frowned. "I… okay. Do you want some coffee we can pretend you made if anyone asks?"

"I seldom say no to coffee." She followed him into the kitchen and he poured her a large mug, refilling his and gesturing for her to sit with him at his dining room table. "How are you?"

"Which me?" he asked dryly.

She smiled. "The one making eye contact."

"Fine." Because… yeah. "How's everything at the station?"

After a pause, she said slowly, "People are in shock. They can't believe what's happened to you, they can't believe it happened because Juliet was drinking, they can't believe Juliet was drinking. Buzz is near-catatonic. Woody is—"

"I don't want to know about Woody," he interrupted quickly. "You can tell them Juliet's read all my messages for me and I'm… very… appreciative." He was, too. He was still surprised and touched by the show of support, although a little corner of his mind kept muttering _they're all in on the case and only _acting_ like they care_.

Karen sipped her coffee. "Buzz would really like to come and see you."

"Not this week." He knew he couldn't put it off too long, but he simply didn't want to lie to Buzz McNab, not in person. Abstractly, for the job, sure; it was necessary. But he couldn't lie to his face. In fact, he should probably bandage his eyes before visits from _anyone_ so he wouldn't have to see their expressions as they… pitied him. _Or, you know, gave a damn, unlikely as that seemed_.

She was amused. "And the case itself? I've been updated by Berman and Fuller but how's Juliet doing overall?"

"She's a pro. Today she meets with Nardi to say yes and talk terms."

"Hmmm."

Carlton eyed her. He knew his boss pretty well, after all these years, and that "hmmm" was familiar. "What?"

"Well, what I was asking is how she's doing. Not how she's doing her job."

Raising his mug as if it would shield him from her inquiring gaze, he said nothing.

Karen sighed. "I have eyes, you know. You and Juliet have weathered a lot of storms, including Hurricane Spencer, but your partnership has changed the past year. It's got a lot more rough edges than I'd like to see from my top team."

"We'll work it out," he said stiffly, not sure if it was true.

"Carlton." She shook her head slightly, as if counseling herself internally. "I have two primary interests here. First, and I suppose this should be foremost, this case is important. To the Feds and to me. DiMera's money-laundering operation spans twenty years and three continents, and if we can add conspiracy to commit the murder of the star witness, we will have done a phenomenally good thing."

"Except the target gets immunity," he muttered.

"Oh, but that immunity is a lot narrower than he realizes, and he will _not_ go free very long. My second interest, admittedly more personal, is in what's going to be left of you and Juliet when this case is over. Juliet especially will have a tough time getting back her balance, because she's the one who's been dragged through the mud in the press. But you'll both have to deal with the fallout of having been obligated to lie to coworkers and friends and family, and you'll actually need your partnership and friendship as a buffer against the outside world more than ever before. So when I ask you how things are going, I'm not just idly curious."

He set his mug down, restless and uneasy. "We… we had a… disagreement this morning. But we'll work it out. We always have, and we will this time too, and we'll close this case—or she'll close it—with every ounce of professionalism we have."

_And after that, she'll move to Boise and I'll drink myself to oblivion._

"A disagreement," she repeated.

"Yes." For no matter how much power Karen Vick wielded over his career, and no matter how perceptive she could be, there was no way in hell he was going to say he and Juliet had damn near mauled each other a few hours ago and that even now he felt the effects of her mouth on his and the soft skin of her breast against his palm.

Nope. Those words were _never_ coming out.

They heard the key in the lock—_thank God _and_ oh crap_—and Juliet pushed the door open, calling out his name before seeing the two of them at the table.

She had bags, and he got up automatically to take them from her. "Thanks," she said. "It's Chinese, for lunch."

Karen greeted her, and Juliet quickly asked her if she'd stay and eat with them.

"There are extra egg rolls and I got some soup, too, so there's plenty of food and I know Carlton's tired of eating with just me."

One of Karen's eyebrows arched, and Carlton said, "Not true, but stay anyway, Chief. Give Juliet a break from _me_." Depositing the food bags on the table, he went to get plates and silverware, leaving the women together and feeling like an idiot, because clearly Juliet didn't want to be alone with him. Karen probably looked like a shining beacon of hope.

He couldn't blame her for being uncomfortable. She'd had a few hours to reach any one of several conclusions, from "we shouldn't have" to "what was I thinking" to "eeww, no."

Karen did stay for lunch, but not long; she had a tight schedule for the afternoon. Carlton let the two of them carry the conversation, and he recognized Juliet was being too bright and too cheerful—and that _Karen_ knew she was being too bright and too cheerful too—but it didn't matter now.

When Karen was ready to go, he took their plates back to the kitchen, but heard Karen's quiet "a word, Juliet?" and then the sound of the front door closing after they stepped into the hall.

Well, at least Juliet would get the same grill job he'd had. And one thing he was sure about was she would give Karen essentially the same answers.

She _probably_ wouldn't vocalize "eeww, no."

**. . . .**

**. . .**

When Juliet gave her drink order to the bartender, he gave her a look—the kind of look suggesting he was About to Say Something.

"What?" she asked wearily.

He shrugged. "Nothing."

"Good." She took the drink and found a table against the wall, near a tall plastic plant, and hoped Hugo would give her a few minutes' solitude.

Karen had asked her how things were going, admitting Carlton told her they'd had 'a disagreement.'

Juliet assured her—much as she gathered _he_ had—that the issue was temporary and would be resolved soon. Karen said she hoped this was true, and Juliet went back inside dreading what lay ahead.

But Carlton had only been quiet. His eyes, blue and solemn, said more than anything else, and she came away with the certainty that his regard for her was more than the sum of the passion of their kiss… but would remain locked up behind that damnable wall of his.

A wall she'd just boneheadedly helped him fortify.

A wall she really wanted to tear down.

_You _will_ make this right, O'Hara. You will._

The little voice was grim, and she was glowering at the glass when Hugo sat down across from her.

"The drink doesn't seem to have improved your mood any." He sipped from his own, a martini with two green olives lurking at the bottom.

"Oh, I'm just getting started. So let's talk about remuneration."

He smiled. "Jumping right in, I see."

Juliet shrugged. "What do you want me to say? Something like 'I've never done this before'? You _know_ I've never done this before. You don't care. You want the job done and I want the opportunity to fix something I didn't think could be fixed."

Hugo's eyes were intent. "You puzzle me, Juliet."

"I don't recall giving you permission to address me by my first name, yesterday or today."

Another smile. He was completely unfazed by her attitude, but then from what she knew of Jacky DiMera, anyone who worked for him had to be used to the unusual.

"Juliet," he said with deliberate emphasis. "We are far too well-acquainted now to resort to formalities. The remuneration, as you put it, is two hundred and fifty thousand dollars."

Juliet stared at him. This was a key moment, one Berman and Fuller had warned her to play as carefully as possible. "No."

He laughed. "No?"

"No."

"I thought you were doing this for the noblest of causes," he drawled, mocking the very concept.

"I am," she shot back. "But doing it means I also find out what my price is. You know? And my price, as it turns out, is higher than that. Not because I want to make a profit, but because that amount won't last very long in the medical world, and you know it. We're talking about procedures and treatments you can't get down at the local clinic. It'll mean travel and extended stays out of town and being able to pay bills at home at the same time. So no. But thanks." She finished her drink but before she could reach for her bag, Hugo reached over and grasped her wrist.

"My dear, impatient _Juliet_." It was all ice.

She looked at him, trying to seem unimpressed.

"Three hundred," he said.

"Huh." She withdrew from his touch, folding her arms. "What is that, another few months? Some extra gauze and a shiny new walking cane? You can do better. I can see it in your eyes."

He maintained eye contact: he thought he could break her, but he underestimated the value of years of practice at holding up under the steel-blue scrutiny of Detective Carlton Lassiter.

"The problem my employer wants removed has killed seven people over fifteen years. There is little proof and the Feds have been unable to keep him in custody."

"So? That only means your employer makes poor hiring choices."

Hugo waved that away. "It's a multi-tiered organization. Many layers of hiring. Rules get… overlooked. You know there's no direct link between him and anything… unsavory."

Juliet rolled her eyes. "Let me save you some time. I've done a little Googling and I believe the problem he wants 'removed' is Sage Damski."

His reaction was nearly imperceptible, but it was there in the slightest flicker of his stare.

"Damski's the star witness in the upcoming trial which the Feds hope will put your boss away for good, disrupting if not shutting down completely his rather remarkable and long-running money-laundering operation." She smiled. "I have a lot of spare time to read while Carlton sleeps."

"Removing Damski improves the world," Hugo said evenly.

"I agree. But it's no longer my job to improve the world. It's only my job to improve _Carlton's_ world."

"Failure to remove Damski, even if it does accomplish the unlikely goal of incarcerating my employer, means he gets immunity for his many past crimes. DiMera pushes paper. Numbers. It's not… real. It's not visceral, like stabbing a young woman who refused him a dance or running a van full of teenagers off the highway in a fit of road rage. Or driving drunk and blinding your partner," he finished acidly.

Juliet flinched, and that was real, but she had to stay on point. "Four hundred."

Hugo tsked. He was getting pissed off, and she couldn't help but enjoy it. "Three fifty."

"Three seventy five, or this conversation ends now."

She could have sworn he murmured the word 'bitch' before he said more clearly, "Fine."

"You'll have to provide a… means… for the removal. I no longer have one of my own and don't even bother asking me to borrow one of Carlton's."

Hugo nodded.

"Also you'll have to provide what you know about where he is and how to… access him, since I'm sure you 'get' that I can't be asking any of my former associates."

Another nod.

"How will the remuneration be made?"

"Offshore bank account. You'll be given the access codes and password after the job is done."

"What name will the account be under?"

"Yours, of course." He finished his martini. "Juliet Lassiter."

For a second she was shocked, and then she was annoyed, and underneath both of those reactions was a long, drawn-out _ohhhh_. "Piss off," she snapped. "That's not very funny."

"I'm not trying to be funny." He smiled, and it was more than a little hostile. "Isn't that the inevitable course? You can't leave him to his own devices. We talked about that yesterday."

"You made a nasty and groundless remark," Juliet retorted, "and I told you to shut the hell up."

"Do get over yourself, Juliet. You know as well as I do that a man like Lassiter, so totally consumed by his career, is going to have to struggle _every single_ _day_ to find a reason to go on. You, his loyal and guilt-ridden partner, will have no choice but to become that reason. And of course, being married simplifies matters of medical decision-making." He pushed the glass away. "It's not like we could put the account under your name, now, is it? Let alone his." He grinned. "Just one more way DiMera Enterprises has your best interests at heart."

She took a breath. "Remember me telling you to go to hell yesterday? Go again."

Hugo laughed, obviously feeling he was back on his own turf. "Lovely. I'm leaving now, but keep your phone on. I'll call tonight to arrange the exchange of information and supplies." He got up smoothly and drifted away.

**. . . .**

**. . .**


	7. Chapter 7: Eyes Open

**CHAPTER SEVEN: Eyes Open**

**. . . .**

**. . .**

When Juliet unlocked his door and came in, Carlton could tell she'd had enough for the day.

There were dark shadows under her eyes, and her sigh as she dumped her bag and keys on the table was profound. She held on to the nearest chair for a moment while she kicked off her shoes.

Before he could get up from the sofa where he'd been making headway on the biography of John M. Porter, she had come around to sit at the end, her knees drawn up under her chin.

"Hi."

"Hi," he echoed. "How did—"

"We need to talk about this morning."

He blinked. "I'd rather not."

Juliet smiled faintly, and tired or not, she was beautiful. "I know. But it can't stand between us, Carlton. So we have to talk."

Closing the book and bracing himself, he sat up straight and faced her.

_Take it like a man_… and hope whatever she said wouldn't kill him outright.

"I want our partnership to be as good as it was before I screwed it up."

He couldn't tell her he didn't know what she was talking about. She'd know a lie the instant it left him.

"You didn't screw it up alone." He was sure there were ways he'd made the distance greater.

For a second she looked surprised, then chagrined. "Anything you did was a direct reaction to what I did."

"O'Hara, dwelling on the past is a bad idea." Plus, he really wanted to move this conversation along. If it was going to be bad, let it be bad fast.

"That's true. I want us to go forward and I don't want any more obstacles. I can't change who Shawn is, but he's out of my personal life now and there's no reason why you and I can't go back to being the best team in the frickin' world."

Carlton couldn't help but smile at her half-fierce, half-teasing expression.

"We just have to work at it." She fussed with a bit of fuzz on the sofa cushion. "And I need to apologize if it seemed like I've been leading you on."

Ah, good; the bad was here already. "I never thought you were leading me on, Juliet. We're working a complicated case in close quarters and… and things…" He swallowed. "Happen."

Juliet's dark blue gaze was direct. "Yeah. I guess. But not only do I need you to believe I wasn't trying to lead you on, I also don't want you to think I regret it or wish it _hadn't_ happened."

He was stunned… alarmed… confused… aroused… but mostly stunned.

She went on slowly, "I still can't believe what I did last month, and seeing you this week, in a hospital, bandaged up and acting the part of a man whose life has been destroyed? Well, that drove it home for me, and I've probably seemed like a crazy person to you. I think I _am_ a crazy person. And I am so sorry for what I did; God, Carlton, I am so sorry—"

"What are you talking about? What are you sorry for?" His puzzlement was genuine. "The accident wasn't your fault."

"The aftermath was." She looked sick. "Everything we're acting out this week could have happened last month. All of it. Or worse."

Carlton, without thinking it through, got up and moved to sit closer to her. "Stop. Listen to me. Even if you're right; even if I ended up blind, or deaf, or disabled, or God forbid, a soprano, it still wouldn't be your fault. It couldn't be, because you didn't cause the collision. You couldn't even have avoided the collision. Carl Dozier had us in his sights, and whether he used a bazooka or a pickup, it doesn't matter. It wasn't your fault."

She looked so lost as she tried to believe.

He took a chance and settled his hand on her shoulder, squeezing lightly. "And although I think I've got a hell of a lot more things to blame myself over than you do, it also wouldn't have been _my_ fault if _I'd_ been in the driver's seat." Not that he wouldn't have felt exactly the way she did right now. Not that he wouldn't have blamed himself every day for not keeping her safe.

Juliet sighed and tilted her head to rest against his hand, and he hoped she didn't hear his intake of breath. "I still should have made you go to the hospital."

He knew himself too well to let that go uncontested. "You didn't stand a chance. I wanted to close the case as much as you did. You'd have had to shoot me in the leg to stop me from seeing it through."

Her warm cheek against the back of his hand was soft, and he marveled at how lovely it felt, and he didn't usually think words like 'lovely,' which was more proof of the power she had over him.

"Then I should have shot you," she said simply.

His laughter was a release, and she laughed too.

But then she said, "Still. The way things were between us, you didn't think you could call on me. I feel so ashamed."

"That's not your fault either. It was my choice not to tell anyone."

Juliet closed her eyes, and he wanted so desperately to turn his hand and caress her face.

"Carlton," she said sadly. "I don't want to be in the 'anyone' group."

His heart twisted. "Oh, God, O'Hara. You've never been in the 'anyone' group. You've always stood apart. I know I'm screwed up but there's _never_ been another person in my life like you." He sounded husky and knew she'd think he was some kind of maudlin sap.

But she looked at him, beautiful eyes brimming, and somehow burrowed into his embrace, her head on his chest, her arms around his back, and her warmth the most intoxicating and amazing sensation he'd had since… well, since this morning.

He had no business holding his partner like this, none.

Nonetheless, while keeping her close, he maneuvered them into a reclining position so both of them could stretch out, and Juliet seemed perfectly content to lie with him, her cheek to his heart.

"You going to tell me about Nardi now?"

"He's a rat bastard," she said calmly.

"I meant something I didn't know."

She snickered. The vibration was wicked.

_Control yourself._

"I agreed to off Damski for 375."

"Nice. What price did you work up from?"

"250. I think I did pretty good. But I do not like that man, Carlton. He is much too smug."

"You used to tell me _I_ was smug."

"You can still be extremely smug, but underneath it you're just an insecure boy."

"Is that supposed to make me feel better?"

"Yep. It means you're not a rat bastard."

"You used to tell me_ I_ was a rat bastard."

Juliet laughed, lifting her head to glare at him. "I did not."

"And a stubborn, pigheaded ass." He grinned.

"Well, you had _that_ coming." She propped herself up on one elbow, grinning back. "Anyway, he's going to call tonight with the specs. I notified Berman before I came home."

_Home_, he thought. Funny how nice that sounded.

He must have had a ridiculous smile on his face, because her grin faded and he began to feel the way he had yesterday in the kitchen, as if they were both on the same page, in the same book, in the same chapter, and headed toward… God help him, a happy ending.

_Yeah, buddy, and that's why it's called __fiction__._

She sighed and lay her head back down. "You're surprisingly comfortable, you know."

So was she, and she smelled so nice, and Carlton took in a deep breath of her, all soft warm curves, resting against his body.

Fiction or no… he'd take it.

There was a sudden loud knock on the front door, and both of them sat up at once. Juliet scrambled off him and hurried to peer through the peephole.

Turning immediately, her eyes wide, she pointed fiercely at Carlton and then to his bedroom, with a side-point at the dark glasses which rested on the table. She mouthed, "Go," and then something even more troubling: "Woody."

**. . . .**

**. . .**

After Carlton had made a rapid retreat to the safety of his room, Juliet opened the door to face Woody Strode.

He was carrying a pizza box and a large gift bag, and smiled his usual frighteningly happy smile. "Juliet! Or Detective O'Hara, I suppose, although perhaps I should say Pending Investigatory Results, Former Detective O'Hara, but really, if you don't mind, I'd prefer—"

"Juliet's fine," she assured him.

His face fell. "Oh. I was going to say Betty, and invite you to call me Al."

She hadn't moved back from the open doorway. "What brings you by… totally out of the blue?"

"Well, I was hoping to have a hearty man's man reunion with Lassie." He chuckled. "I was halfway expecting him to be glaring at me through the peephole."

Juliet shook her head slowly.

His eyes got big. "No, I suppose he wouldn't be doing that. Anyway, I brought pizza. Ginger, mutton and paneer. Kiwi, too. For color."

There went her appetite. "Uh… come again?"

"It's from that new Indian place. Yum-o." His smile returned.

"Oh, well, see, Carlton's asleep." The easiest lie she ever told. "The pain meds make him loopy and he's really not in a very social mood right now."

Woody puzzled over that a moment. "But he's never very social. That's part of his charm."

Privately, and after a year of Shawn as her boyfriend, Juliet tended to agree. "True, but I just don't think I should wake him."

"Oh, I'll do it!" he exclaimed, and made as if to pass by her into the condo.

"Woody," she admonished, putting her arm up swiftly to block him. "Please."

"I really don't mind, Juliet. I'm good with silence. Staring. Awkward moments which disguise true friendship, true male bonding." He was flush with pride.

Juliet took a moment to convince herself not to bar the door and call 911. "I'm sure you're very good at it. But I'm not waking Carlton and you're not either. I'll tell him you came by, and I hope you enjoy your pizza."

But he thrust the box at her. "No, no, I brought this for you. Well, really for him because I didn't know you'd be here, although I guess I should have. Is Shawn in?"

"Shawn? Why would he be here?"

He was very solemn. "He's the only one closer to Lassie than I am."

Juliet stared at him.

_Now it's confirmed. I am in the Twilight Zone._

"Uh… no, I don't really think they're very close at all, and anyway, he's not here. Why don't you take _him_ the pizza? He likes… different things."

"Not in this case. We both hate the mutton. Way too fatty." Grimacing, he managed to shove the box at her again and this time she took it, if only to end the horror. "Oh, and take this too. I figured Lassie could use one, although…" Woody looked sad. "I just realized he can't see it. Never mind, it'll make a good pillow." He offered her the gift bag, urged her to have Carlton call him, and loped off down the hall to the elevator.

Juliet, feeling more than a little appalled, hurriedly closed and dead-bolted the door.

She had the pizza box in one hand and the gift bag in the other, not sure which was more alarming, when Carlton came out of his room, dark glasses at the ready.

"It's clear," she said. "I… think."

"What's in the bag?" He looked as if he didn't really want to know.

"I have no idea." She held it out, and with the familiar frown bisecting his forehead, he reluctantly accepted it. "The pizza, on the other hand, I refuse to discuss. Or open."

He looked up, blue eyes startled. "What is it?"

"Mutton," she said helplessly.

"I… God, I can't _even_." He gave the bag back, took the box instead, moved fast to the kitchen, and soon after she heard the garbage disposer running amid what sounded like "Good God" and "I think I see death" and "where the hell's the bleach?"

The last one made her collapse into giggles, and when she pulled the gift out of its bag, she lost it completely.

Carlton, drying his hands, came back to the main room, and she held out the giant plush eye. It was the size of a basketball, with a bright blue iris, and pinned to it was a note.

"I am not reading that," she gasped between laughs.

He snatched it off and read it aloud. "_Here's looking at you, squid_. _Fonder regards than you'll ever _really_ understand—Woodson, Your Personal Body Doc_."

Juliet couldn't stop laughing for the next ten minutes.

**. . . .**

**. . .**

Hugo Nardi called Juliet about eight that night.

They were sitting a little too close together on the sofa, feet up on his coffee table, as they watched _Sling Blade_ and mocked each other's attempts to sound like Billy Bob Thornton.

They were in the middle of a dangerous, complicated case, they were going to face dozens of angry, embarrassed people when it turned out it was all a sham, they'd kissed like sex-starved maniacs in the morning, and Carlton had personally viewed the utter horror of a mutton and kiwi pizza, but he could not imagine being happier than having this woman with him tonight.

She was relaxed—despite anticipating Nardi's call—and from time to time she would shift and brush up against him, and she was just so… wonderfully… Juliet.

He sighed, feeling foolishly unguarded.

Her phone rang, and he immediately paused the TV. Juliet looked at him, reality setting in quickly, and answered the call. "Yes?"

Carlton watched her. She was focused on whatever Nardi was saying, dark blue eyes intent and posture tensing.

"What time?" A brief pause. "You're an ass." She hung up, scowling.

"What did he say?" He was already annoyed on her behalf.

"I have to jog to Skyler Park at nine tomorrow with a backpack." She was still cross. "He suggested I wear short-shorts."

_Huh. _I_ wouldn't mind seeing—_

"Ow," he said, startled when she smacked his arm. "What?" At her expression, half-amused and half _you're an ass too_, he got up and said uncomfortably, "Well, you... have… nice legs, O'Hara. I'm just saying."

Juliet laughed, obviously not offended.

"Coffee?" he demanded.

"No, thanks."

"Well, I'm getting a refill."

"Make it a bourbon," she teased. "You'll forget faster."

"Never worked before," he called over his shoulder, and heard her laughing again.

Later, when she was sleepy against him, unable to keep her eyes open to watch the news, he murmured, "Stay. I don't want you alone in your place until this is over."

She looked up at him, becoming more alert, and slowly she smiled. "Okay. Thank you."

"Thank _you_. Come on, I'll get you another shirt to sleep in." He had plenty of tees, and she was welcome to anything in his closet. Skeletons too.

He'd considered letting her fall asleep and then carrying her to his bedroom and taking the sofa for himself, but knew the idea of her in his bed might have made it impossible for him to leave her alone there at all.

**. . . .**

**. . .**

_The room was dim, lit only by seven red candles, and Carlton moved through it silently, unsmiling._

_Juliet watched as he stood in the center and counted. She counted with him, unseen in the shadows behind his tall frame, even when he turned and swept the area with his crystal blue eyes: eyes which radiated unhappiness and yet certainty._

_He was counting the guns. On every wall, on every surface, on the floor, hanging from the ceiling. Guns. _

"_Which one?" he asked himself in a low voice. "Which one will be the last one?"_

_He reached for a shining silver pistol_, and Juliet woke in a panic, fighting her way from under the throw, ending up on her knees between sofa and coffee table.

Gasping. Trembling.

The condo was dark and the display on the DVD player said it was just past two a.m. It was very quiet, very still, and rather than be calmed by this normalcy, she was more terrified.

_It was just a dream, a dream about a Carlton who _doesn't exist_, and he's safe in his room, so stop it._

_The hell._

She made her way carefully down into the hall and to his door, because she had to know, and she had to talk to him _right now_.

Turning the knob, she opened it slowly, pushing it before her. Carlton lay on his side, facing her, and she remembered he used to keep a gun under his pillow, so she slowed her pace.

"Carlton," she whispered, advancing to the edge of the bed. "Wake up."

He stirred, and in an instant was sitting up. "Juliet? Are you all right?"

She was sort of impressed he didn't reach for a weapon, but put the thought aside. This was more important. She climbed up, seeing the startled expression on his face as she moved closer, so close they were just inches apart.

There was no need for light. Juliet didn't require anything brighter than the moonlight which shone through the window and the green LCD display of Carlton's alarm clock.

"Do you still have eight guns?"

His warmth beckoned to her, and she let her gaze drop to the exposed vee of his chest where his pajama shirt was partly unbuttoned.

_Later._

"What's wrong? Is someone in the condo?"

"No. Just tell me. Do you still have eight?"

He frowned, and slowly pushed his hand into his tousled hair, trying to figure out the real question, or at least why it was coming at two in the morning. "No. After the Drimmer business I realized I'd gone from what I considered healthy paranoia to signs of mental illness. I got rid of most of them."

She was inexpressibly relieved. "How many are left?"

"Two, not including my service weapon." He peered at her. "Do you need to know where they are?"

Juliet shook her head. "No. I just…" She stopped and sighed, and shifted so she could sit cross-legged, remembering now that other than the borrowed tee and her panties, she had nothing else on. But it was dark, and he wouldn't notice. Probably.

"Carlton? Can I ask you a really personal question?"

She could make out the faintest of smiles. He whispered, for this entire encounter had been one of whispers, "You're in my bed in the middle of the night talking about guns. Ask me whatever the hell you want."

She returned his smile, had a flash of awareness that she was in love with him, and asked, "Have you ever considered suicide?"

He was at once horrified, and grasped her arm firmly. "My God, Juliet, is this case getting to you that badly?"

"No," she assured him. "No, I promise. I'm asking about _you_. Forget the case. I… I just need to know."

Carlton looked at her for a long time, and as close as they were in this hushed darkness, she imagined she could maybe hear his heartbeat. And it was steady. He was not afraid.

"When I was a teenager, I guess I did. But as an adult, never. It's always seemed like the most selfish thing a person could do, and I always thought there was a lot more honor in riding out the storm, even if the storm lasted seventy years."

Juliet let out a sigh of relief, and he touched her face gently before dropping his hand. "And if you lost your sight? And couldn't be a cop anymore?"

Before he could answer, she reached for that warm hand, taking it in both of hers and holding tight.

_Please. Please let him see hope. Please._

"I would find something else," he said simply, "and whatever it was, I would kick effing ass at it."

She half-laughed, half-sobbed, and threw her arms around his neck, and for the second time that day he scooped her close to him and lay back, lifting the blanket and sheets to cover them both.

When she had settled down, head on his shoulder and arm across his middle, trying to resist the urge to drape her bare leg over his flannel-clad thigh, he inquired mildly, "Now what's this conversation really about?"

"Nardi pushing my buttons." She hadn't wanted to say it, but he deserved to know now. "All part of his game, but he got to me. He knows your reputation."

"Career cop with no life?"

"That's what he thinks."

"He's not wrong. But I do have something going for me that most people probably don't fully understand."

Juliet lifted her head to see his face. "What's that?"

"You," he murmured. "Best partner ever. Best friend ever."

Her heart was in danger of overflowing. "Carlton," she sniffled. "I have never been so glad to be anyone's best anything."

"You're my best _everything_." It was a whisper, but clear nonetheless. "And maybe I shouldn't say that after what happened this morning, but it's—"

She never knew how he was going to finish that sentence, because she kissed him first. She climbed on top of him and kissed him insistently, tracing his lips with her tongue and sinking her fingers into his hair.

Carlton groaned and kissed her back, tensing when she tightened her thighs around his waist. He met her tongue with his, instantly as desperate as she was, and for long minutes she stayed in that position, just learning his mouth and letting him learn hers.

But she wanted to learn his face, too; his jaw and earlobes and hairline. She kissed him everywhere, tasting his skin and feeling his sighs against her throat. His hands were on her hips and she knew she wanted his long fingers all over her body.

She sat up in order to pull the tee off and Carlton caught her arms, holding her still.

"Juliet, wait."

_No… do not let him go this time. _

"Please don't stop this."

"Juliet," he said again, with a pleading tone to his voice. "Listen. Listen to me, please."

Still grasping her arms, he pulled her down so they were barely an inch apart, with only the warm and private darkness between them.

"I've... God, Juliet, I've wanted you more than anything else for a long damned time. But even more than that, sweetheart, I need you. I _need_ you." He swallowed. "So if giving in to the want means I might lose what I need... then..."

She took in his words, their simplicity and their ring of truth, and her heart gave up pretending he wasn't everything she'd ever wanted and everything she'd overlooked in him all these years. Everything she'd either chosen not to see or let him hide even when she knew it was there.

"You," she sighed, kissing him tenderly, "cannot lose me."

Carlton enclosed her in his arms, sighing and returning her kiss with a fire and ardency she was barely prepared for.

And the tee came off.

. . . .

. . .


	8. Chapter 8: The Park

**CHAPTER EIGHT: **

**. . . .**

**. . .**

_**(slight M ahead…)**_

**. . . .**

**. . .**

For a time, he thought he would be content to merely kiss her magnificent mouth and stroke her smooth bare back.

The t-shirt was on the floor along with his pajama top, and her breasts brushed his chest in the most tantalizing way.

But he was in no hurry now, because she was in no hurry. It was enough to simply be with her, after years of want.

The _need_ would always be there; it was why even on his darkest days he couldn't seriously entertain thoughts of leaving the department or assigning her a new partner. He needed her.

And Lord, she just felt so damned good. Carlton could have spent hours simply touching her, stroking her soft skin, kissing exploratory trails up and down her body. She was the softest, warmest, silkiest, most insistent package he'd ever encountered. There was no part of her body he wasn't desirous of getting to know at the most intimate level.

And the _sounds_ she made as he wandered: restless, pleased, whimpering, sighing and eventually demanding—both for her turn, and for release.

He gave her release first, earning such trembling from her form, such gasping, such pleading... it was as good as a release for him, at least in his heart and psyche. He honestly wanted nothing else but his certainty of her pleasure.

But he definitely didn't _mind_ that she demanded her turn, and to offer himself up as her playground was no sacrifice at all. As good as it felt to make her mad with ecstasy, the sensation of Juliet nuzzling and licking and tugging and stroking his flesh—all of it—was worth dying from. _During_, even.

However, there was only life here: and when he sank into her, completely certain yet fundamentally astonished, they fit together like pieces of a Chinese puzzle box, a perfect joining in every way, seamless and smooth and whole.

Kissing her, tasting a tear on her face which could well have been his, he gave himself over to an utter bliss he had believed could never be his.

For this, he thought later, he would gladly have given up both his sight and career.

**. . . .**

**. . . **

Juliet lay in the warmth of Carlton's arms, smiling. Basking.

This was right. This was where she was meant to be.

She understood intellectually that she hadn't been ready for this until now, and certainly he hadn't been. They each had to grow to who they were in order to be an "us."

Their successes and failures, their pains and joys—their scars, their lessons learned—it all made them better in the end, better for themselves and certainly for each other.

His breathing was steady and she lifted her gaze to survey his profile as dawn seeped into the room. Unexpectedly patient and every bit as thorough in lovemaking as on the job, Carlton had stunned her with how much he seemed to need to give her pleasure, again and again.

Then again, she'd been a bit stunned by how much she wanted to do the same for him, to explore his lean, warm body with hands and tongue. His long legs, strong arms, the fur on his chest, the freckles on his shoulders, the heat of him—all very much a delight, and tasty too, she thought with a wicked private grin.

Hell of a week, really. So much darkness outside the cocoon she'd found with him. So much dark work still to be done.

She brushed his skin with her fingertips, enjoying the feel of his chest hair, and pausing over his heart to find his even heartbeat. So _alive_ was her man. So vital. All energy, coiled and ready, and yet able to be so very quiet and still, absorbing what he saw and felt. Keeping so much of himself private, sure no one cared and that anyone who claimed to was lying.

His expressive eyes were his greatest betrayer, and had long been the quickest way she had to judge what was really going on with him, if it was possible to tell anything at _all_ before getting lost in simple admiration of the blue. Even when she wanted to kill him—even when she was involved with Shawn _and_ wanted to kill Carlton—she could not look into the blue very long without softening, without remembering he had a heart like everyone else, albeit much more closely guarded, with multiple deadbolts.

Well... she had the keys now.

And she would never give them up.

**. . . .**

**. . .**

Carlton felt something unexpected moving on his leg.

Eyes closed, he analyzed what it could be. Too large to be a bug—unless it was a big-ass bug, in which case he had no intention of opening his eyes but would rather plot a manly albeit scream-filled run out of the room (to find a gun and blow the thing to bits, of course)—and too non-Juliet to be Juliet.

Soft, though.

He took a chance and peered out from under half-closed eyes.

Juliet was smiling at him, rubbing the plush eyeball against his calf, and the minute she saw he was awake, started to laugh.

He lunged for the eyeball, but she snatched it away, and then he became totally distracted by the fact of her continuing delightful nudity and lunged for _her_ instead.

Shrieking with laughter now, she fought him off half-heartedly until they'd both won, with Carlton having pinned her down, hands over her head.

"I don't want Woody's eye in our bedroom," he growled, holding her wrists firm and pressing hard against her lower body.

She liked that, because she parted her thighs despite the pressure, and the light in her eyes grew wicked.

Pushing back up against him, she said breathlessly, "_Our_ bedroom?"

He hesitated, but only a moment. "It is now." He kissed her, and she welcomed it, and whatever became of the plush eye, he didn't care.

Too soon, the clock and the advancing of the light put an end to their mutual re-explorations.

Juliet had to get a cab back to her place, change into her jogging clothes—"no, _not_ the short-shorts"—and make it to Skyler Park by nine.

They eyed each other, smiling, over coffee. He wanted to ask her more than a few questions about their future but right now was not the time. He also wanted to take her back to bed, but right now was not the time for that, either.

Juliet promised to be careful. She'd passed the meeting information to Berman & Fuller last night after Hugo's call, but Carlton wanted to be there, to see for himself. She reminded him this was just a meet to collect Damski's agenda and the weapon, and when he still muttered about wanting to supervise, she stepped up to him, gave him a rather intense coffee-flavored kiss, and whispered that he was a little crazy and by the way tasted delicious.

He was pretty sure he was blushing when she left, and found it vaguely embarrassing that she could have that effect on him.

It wasn't as if she hadn't said it during the night. But still, things murmured between two naked people in bed have a different timbre when heard during the daylight in the kitchen over coffee.

Made him want to add some whiskey to the coffee, in fact... right before a bracing cold shower, because the memory of having been naked in bed with Juliet—with _Juliet!_ who _wanted_ to be there!—was enough to drive a man over a very, very happy edge.

**. . . .**

**. . .**

Juliet jogged into the park and circled around the swing sets as Hugo had directed, and when she paused at the water fountain, surveyed the park visitors around her.

Elbows on his knees, Hugo was seated alone on a bench about thirty yards away. He waved casually, as if they were buddies.

_In your dreams, non-buddy. _

She sat next to him, not too close, shrugging off the backpack to rest between them.

"No short-shorts," he said with mock sadness.

She ignored that, and was doubly glad she'd chosen a loose-fitting complete-body-covering jogging outfit. "Didn't think I'd see _you_ here."

He put his arm along the back of the bench and she couldn't help but shift away. She did not want this man touching her.

"Sometimes the fewer people involved, the better." There was a plastic grocery bag next to him, and he shifted it to the space in front of the backpack.

Juliet glanced at it, but kept her arms folded. "Tell me again why you think your people won't be the first suspects."

Hugo smiled. "We know we'll be the first suspects. That's why you need to do this on Monday between one and five."

"Because?"

"Alibis, of course."

"But they'll know you could have hired someone."

"Of course. But they would never consider my brief barroom chats with you suspicious."

"No?" She knew better than to goad him, but… "You know, one of the reasons people _occasionally_ get arrested is that we don't forget unlikely suspects do sometimes turn out to be the bad guys."

Hugo fixed his cool hazel gaze on her. "I should have thought you'd limit your guilt reflex to taking care of your Carlton, not trying to sabotage the very same act you've agreed to do specifically to save him."

_My Carlton._

"I can multi-layer my guilt," she said tartly.

As always, he only smiled.

"But why me?"

Hugo frowned. "Haven't we been over this already?"

"I need to hear it again. Why would you choose a brand new ex-cop for this job? What makes you think I won't rat you out?"

"We _have_ been over this already, Juliet. Of course, I'd appreciate it if you'd _tell_ me you're planning to turn me in, so I can have a few minutes' head start, but you're not going to do that, and you know why."

She stared at him; he was unfazed.

"He needs you," Hugo continued. "If you turn me in, there's no money for him. No hope for a cure. Just the endless dark. You can't do that. Even if he told you he could make it alone, you wouldn't leave him. Even if he kicked you out, you could never walk away, because never being able to forget that _you_ caused the dark in the first place will keep you chained to him." He gave her another one of those slow, knowing smiles. "And this is how it _should_ be. Well-deserved guilt is a very strong motivator to do the right thing."

Juliet's jaw tightened. Most of what he said was true, the bastard. "Most people would not call murder 'the right thing.'"

Hugo shrugged. "_Most_ people would not call driving drunk and blinding your partner the right thing either, but in comparison to protecting society from a known evil like Damski, it's not so bad." He grinned now. "The fact that you're in love with Lassiter simply makes it all a little easier."

It took a huge amount of self-control not to swing at him. Mocking, self-satisfied prick… "So what's in the bag?" she asked icily.

"The removal tool you requested. Ditch it when you're finished. Also the documents you need to establish where you might find him." He unzipped her backpack and slid the bag inside, rezipping it afterwards.

"Why isn't he in protective custody?"

"He refused it. They're still watching him, of course, so take care they don't find _you_ in their sights that day."

Juliet shook her head. "You _really_ think they're not going to suspect you?"

"We are well aware that we'll be suspects. At this point, Damski could be struck by lightning in the middle of Harder Stadium in front of ten thousand witnesses and we'd still be suspects. But we'll have various airtight alibis. And don't forget Damski has many enemies, notable among them the parents of some of his victims, who have become increasingly enraged as word has gotten out about certain immunities he'll receive for his testimony."

"Why didn't you go to one of the parents, then?"

Hugo turned on the bench to face her directly and implacably. "Juliet, do I need to worry about your compliance?"

"No."

"Are you _sure_?"

Despite DiMera and his 'cabinet' never having been linked directly to any murders, Juliet harbored no illusion that Hugo Nardi was above such a thing. The cold light in his eyes made it very clear he was capable of anything dark he might set his mind to.

Slowly, she explained, "I'm a cop. Always will be, even if I never get paid for it again. My job was to find the weaknesses in a story in order to use them against the suspect, to build a case that would hold up in court. I can't help but look for the weaknesses in your plan."

He held her gaze for a long chilling moment and then smiled. "This, I actually believe. I will say this much. My employer has become so irate at Damski that he is willing to enter previously unexplored _darker_ gray areas in order to gain the upper hand—with all due precautions in place. It is also his nature to find it… whimsical… that a former police officer take the helm."

"And you don't think I'm the weak link?" _She_ did.

"In this sort of operation, all links are potentially weak. But you, Juliet, are the _strongest_ link in our chain, because you alone are not motivated by revenge, greed, or insanity. You, on the contrary, are motivated by guilt and love, a lethal combination when mixed properly."

His smile was back, and she gave the bastard credit for having a good understanding of how people in dire stress behaved.

But he didn't know everything, did he?

"Let me ask _you_ a question," he added, seeming genuinely curious. "Why the hell were you involved with that fraud Spencer for so long?"

Juliet pursed her lips. "You tell me, Hugo; you're the one with all the answers. Are we done?"

He smiled—she really hated that smile. "I'll wait to hear the evening news on Monday and I'll be in touch after that."

She got up, efficiently slinging the backpack into place. "I'm sure we'll have a lovely chat."

**. . . .**

**. . .**

Back at her apartment, Juliet packed up a proper overnight bag to take to Carlton's. Not that she minded his t-shirts, and not that she expected to wear much of anything for the next couple of days, but having her own things handy would be nice.

She sat for a few moments at her dining table, taking a look at the mini-dossier Hugo had prepared on Sage Damski, but her mind was back on Carlton now.

The Carlton who _was_, not the Carlton imagined by Hugo. The Carlton who'd been her lover last night and this morning, the one she knew she loved. That one.

Juliet smiled.

That one? No. _The_ one.

_All the better reason to stay alive, so don't screw up this case._

Using the secure phone to call Berman, she confirmed what they had already observed via surveillance in the park, that the gun and information were in her hands and the window for 'the removal' was Monday afternoon. He said he'd call her later with the details on when they would be ready for her faux move on Damski, and this time she didn't bother to ask if Damski would be protected.

With a last check of her place, she slung her overnight bag—into which she had stuffed the contents of the backpack—over her shoulder and went to meet the cab.

_You're a bad cop, you know. You're thinking about getting naked with Carlton instead of about the case._

_But there's no action to be taken until Monday, so why shouldn't I think about the other kind of action I'm pretty sure I can get _today_?_

The cabbie let her out at Prospect Gardens, she hurried up the steps, and stopped dead at the sight of Shawn in the lobby, about to press the elevator button.

But it wasn't Shawn himself who shocked her; rather, it was the person standing next to him: Carlton's ex-wife.

"Jules!" he said, ever cheerful, and ever in denial about… everything.

Juliet was staring at Victoria, who was staring back. She'd only seen photos of her, but she'd know her anywhere: large silver-blue eyes, long wavy dark hair. Very little make-up, but striking in her own way, and curiously, she had dimples despite looking like someone who didn't smile much. Or ever.

But then, Juliet had met her father, so that was one explanation for the latter.

"Jules," Shawn repeated. "This is Victoria Parker."

"I know who she is." Juliet did the right thing and extended her hand, and Victoria shook it firmly. "I'm Juliet O'Hara, Carlton's partner."

"I know who _you_ are too," Victoria said coolly. "I'd like to see Carlton."

_So that's how it was going to be._ "I don't know if he's up to that today. Uh, is it coincidence you're here together?"

Even as she asked, she knew it wasn't: she remembered the card from Victoria, which had been forwarded from Carlton's last address.

"No, not exactly." Shawn admitted. "She may have come to the Psych office seeking directional assistance."

Victoria said bluntly, "Carlton didn't tell me he'd moved. The police don't give out employee addresses, he's not in the book, and I assumed someone was screening his calls. So I—"

"_Screening_ his calls?" Juliet interrupted. "You understand he's blind, right? He can't exactly see who's calling and the phone's off most of the time anyway. He sleeps a lot and when he's awake, he's trying to figure out his future. It's not personal that he hasn't talked to very many people." She glared at Shawn during the last sentence. "And he's not good with surprise visitors. Didn't Woody tell you that yesterday, Shawn?"

He had the grace to look sheepish. "Well. Maybe. But this is different. This is Victoria! She came to the Psych office and asked our help getting to Lassie, and how could we say no?"

"'Our' help? Funny, I don't see Gus."

"Gus may have refused to get involved, but in spirit, he's right here, Jules." He patted his heart. "Right _here_."

Victoria said, "Look, you two obviously have some issues to work out, so I'm going to go up and see Carlton now, okay?"

Juliet covered the elevator call button with her hand before Victoria could jab at it. "Please understand me. I'm not trying to be rude to you specifically. Shawn, yes, but not you. It's just that I know Carlton is _not_ ready for unexpected visitors right now."

"You've been out," Shawn remarked. "How can you be sure? He might be bouncing off the walls, desperate for some reminiscing."

"I'll call him," Juliet said defiantly and yanked her phone out of her pocket.

Victoria actually rolled her eyes. Juliet put off slapping her.

"Hang on," Shawn remarked in the same reasonable tone. "You said the phone was off, right? And he can't see who's calling so he wouldn't answer anyway?"

_Holy crap. Major slip-up averted, thank you but _damn_ you Shawn._

Sighing, she put the phone away. "Force of habit. Look, I'll go up and see if he's willing to have visitors."

"We'll come along for the ride," Victoria said, and there was no stopping either of them from getting in the elevator.

On the fifth floor, she fished out her key and walked fast enough so she was at the door a few paces ahead of them. "I'll be out in a minute." She sent Shawn a preemptive glare, and as soon as the door was closed behind her she deadbolted it immediately.

Carlton got up from the sofa, smiling, but the smile faded when she dropped her bags and advanced on him, shaking her head for silence and pushing him backwards into his bedroom.

"Is this a hostile come-on?" he inquired, watching as she closed the door for good measure.

"Shawn's here. With Victoria. They're in the hall."

"Victoria—with Shawn? What the hell?" His eyes were wide, and he was both panicked and scowling.

"They were at the elevator when I got here and I couldn't stop them coming up. I think she went to Psych to get Shawn to bring her to you. I told them I'd see if you were up to company."

"I'm never up for his company," he muttered. "But I'm not sure I should put her off."

"You can," she said reasonably, "because no one is obligated to accept an uninvited visitor."

_Plus she's already pissed me off and there's a good chance I might slap her silly._

Carlton's frown deepened, along with the shade of blue of his eyes.

And suddenly she couldn't do it: he didn't want to toss his ex out on her unwelcome ear, and Juliet didn't want to let her completely selfish personal reasons influence him.

"Wait," she said, shaking herself temporarily free of the jealousy. "You're right."

This confused him more. "I didn't say anything."

_Your eyes do, every time._

"I know. But you're right anyway. Let's just get it over with. Be polite, be frail, say as little as possible." She tugged on his arm to lead him back out to the hall and down to the bathroom, where she taped down his eyelids, and then got him situated at the dining table with his dark glasses.

"Juliet," he said, finding her wrist somehow as she started to go to the door.

"What is it?"

"Don't leave me alone with either one of them."

She found it in her to laugh, and leaned in to kiss his cheek. "Don't worry, toots. Thanks to Hugo, I'm packin' heat again."

But her confidence evaporated about fifteen seconds after she opened the door, because Victoria pushed past her, said Carlton's name lovingly, then put her hands to his startled face and kissed him on the mouth.

**. . . .**

**. . .**


	9. Chapter 9: Showdown

**CHAPTER NINE: Showdown**

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**. . .**

"Cool," Shawn said with interest.

_Not cool_, Juliet thought. Not cool at _all_ to see Victoria sucking face with the man she loved.

Victoria pulled back from Carlton, smiling triumphantly, and when Juliet searched his expression for a reaction, she saw only surprise and a blessedly familiar scowl forming.

"I have missed you so much, Carl," she said, sitting down and reaching to take his hand.

_You'd better let go_, Juliet thought with instant ire. _And don't call him Carl. He is not a Carl_.

Carlton gently withdrew from her touch. "Victoria."

"I've been trying to get to see you all week. But they wouldn't let me through at the hospital, and when I heard you were discharged I went to your old place, but they told me you'd moved, so I remembered you worked with that agency—" She waved vaguely in Shawn's direction, as if Carlton could see her. "And I went there to ask for their help."

"Glad to give it," Shawn said, obviously proud of himself.

Juliet thwacked him in the chest and he _oof_ed, stumbling back a bit. Victoria didn't see, but Carlton's head turned in their direction, frown in place.

"Carlton, why are your eyes bandaged?" She was peering around the side of his glasses. "I was hoping to see your beautiful blues again."

_Oh, you _had_ your chance, you suburban succubus. _

He hesitated. "It helps me…"

"It's a transitional thing," Juliet explained tersely. "To help him acclimatize."

Victoria frowned at Juliet. "What does the doctor say?"

_Count to three_. "He says. It's a transitional thing. To help. Him. Acclimatize."

Victoria's gaze became glacial.

Yeah, they understood each other.

She turned her back on them, speaking earnestly and quietly to Carlton, and Juliet was terribly glad she'd taken the time to bandage his eyes shut, because she seriously doubted he could have hidden what he was thinking even behind the dark glasses.

Plus, he'd be highly alarmed if he could suss out how murderous _her_ thoughts were.

Shawn tugged on her arm and drew her back into the kitchen. "Let them have a moment."

Juliet rounded on him, furious, but kept her voice down to a hiss. "What the hell were you thinking bringing her here?"

He appeared to be shocked. "I was _thinking_ he could use a friend."

"He _has_ a friend! Me! _I'm_ his friend, Shawn!"

"I meant an old friend. Someone who knew him before. Someone who—"

"Someone who stomped on his heart and led him on for years and with whom he's had no contact in ages?"

"Okay, when you put it like that, it doesn't sound so good, but the point is, I think he needs to know he's got more than just you going for him. And you need to know that too," he insisted. "You can't build your whole life around Lassie."

"But he already _is_ my whole life. He's been the one constant of my life for years," she said, and if his eyes were wide before, they were saucers now.

But she wouldn't take it back. It would be a lie to take it back.

Shawn said, very quietly, "I think you're forgetting the time _we_ spent together, Jules. But I understand, see, because you've let yourself become totally absorbed in Lassieland this week. You're hiding from everything because of the accident, because of your job, because of his sight, and it's making you lose perspective of what's real."

_Oh, Shawn. You were _never_ my whole life. You were only my irresponsible, self-centered boyfriend for a while, and _that's_ what made me lose perspective on what's real_.

Juliet drew herself in, forcing herself to remember she was still working a case and still going to have to rebuild a lot of connections after it was over. She wanted an amicable split from Shawn, and the things her inner Ass-Kicker wanted to say had to be suppressed. Firmly.

She selected two simple words. "I disagree."

"Jules, come on…"

"And what, you couldn't call me to ask if today was a good day?"

"Well, today obviously _was_ a good day, or you wouldn't have left him alone again," he said with that annoying innocent smile.

Always with the condescending _I'm smarter than you_ crap.

Deep breath. "But _you_ didn't know that, did you? For all you know, I could have been out getting his meds!"

"Looked to me like you were moving in," he shot back. "That was a suitcase you were carrying, wasn't it?"

"It was an overnight bag, Shawn, and yes, I have been staying here, but what of it? That doesn't answer the question of why you couldn't make a simple phone call to find out if you could come over with… with…"

He filled in the blanks smugly. "_Victoria_. Parker. Formerly _Lassiter_. And since you quit taking my calls about seven days ago, there wasn't much point in using the phone, was there?"

She turned her back on him rather than knock his block off, returning to the edge of the main room, where Victoria was still working on Carlton. She felt Shawn standing beside her, but wouldn't look at him.

Carlton was explaining he didn't remember anything about the accident. He was being vague as to how he felt (typical for him, but also essential right now).

Victoria patted his hand, which he'd absently returned to the table. "I know you're feeling a lot of stress, but I'm here now, and I want to help you."

"I appreciate that, but you don't have to worry about me."

"How can I not? You're here alone, you're adjusting to a whole new world, and you need someone."

"I have someone." His tone was flat.

She scoffed. "Please. I mean on a permanent basis. Your partner being here is just temporary."

"Why do you say that?" Sharper now.

Lowering her voice, but not so much Juliet couldn't hear, she said, "Well… she's going to jail, I assume. She certainly should."

Carlton tensed—Juliet could see it from where she stood. "Why would she go to jail?"

"Carlton! She drove drunk and caused your blindness! She's the reason you—"

He cut her off angrily. "It was an accident!"

Juliet started to move forward, but Shawn, surprisingly, held her back. "Stay out of it," he warned, and for a brief moment she thought he was being shockingly mature, until she realized that if Victoria won this round, Shawn would have won _his_.

But she forced herself to stay put. Eavesdropping shamelessly would do for the moment.

Victoria had moved on. "Even if she doesn't go to jail, Carl, sweetie, you can't be looked after by an alcoholic. That's just not going to work."

He snapped, "Who in the hell told you she was an alcoholic?"

"Well, it's obvious, isn't it? Maybe she's hiding it from you for now, but if you try you can probably smell it on her breath. Look," she said more loudly when he started to protest, "my point isn't to bash your _former_ partner. I'm here to say I want to take care of you. You can come live in my new house, and _I'll_ help you adjust to your new way of life."

Carlton stared in her direction, speechless.

Soothingly, she added, "Honey, you need someone to make these decisions for you right now. Someone with your best interests at heart."

Carlton was seething; Juliet couldn't understand how Victoria didn't see it. "Juliet has my best interests at heart, and I think you must have forgotten how things were between us. You couldn't wait to kick me out of _our_ house, remember? Why the hell would you want me back?"

She sighed, and tried again to touch his hand; again he withdrew. "Carl… look. Years pass, perspectives change. One reason it didn't work between us is your job. You were married more to the job than to me, and I resented that. But now… now we could get to know each other again. As full-grown adults. You know?"

"Victoria," he sighed, rubbing his temples.

"I'm not saying we should get back together. I'm just saying you can't stay in this situation, with someone who pays more attention to the bottle than you, someone who leaves you alone like she did this morning and is probably the reason your friends—the people who really care about you and are good for you—have to jump through hoops to get to see you!"

"What are you talking about? It's only been a week! The first few days I was completely out of it on meds. I've been home for three days—not three years. I'm entitled to a little time to get used to everything."

"Okay, but you didn't have to be on your own. You shouldn't have been on your own."

"I wasn't on my own! Juliet's been here the whole time."

"It shouldn't have been her," she said hotly. "It shouldn't have been the person who did this to you. She's manipulating you into thinking she's the only one who wants to help you. She's preying on your uncertainties because of her guilt."

He visibly tried to calm himself; Juliet found a moment to be proud, and then went back to wanting to bitch-slap his smug ex. "Victoria, listen to me."

"No, Carl—you listen to me. I know you're hanging on to what seems familiar. But sometimes the familiar… it turns on you. That's what's happened here, obviously, because if she was the person you thought she was, you wouldn't be sitting there blind while she sneaks off to have a mimosa breakfast at the nearest bar."

"Oh, for God's sake, Jules is not an alcoholic!"

The outburst came from Shawn, surprisingly. Juliet stared at him, and Victoria turned as well, but Shawn reached out and grabbed Juliet's hand.

"Okay, I'll just say it. I sense you were drinking because you were depressed about our breakup. You are far too law-abiding a person—far too good a cop—to be drinking on the job, and I know if it hadn't been for the pain of our split, this never would have happened."

Juliet's jaw dropped, and she yanked her hand free.

Victoria said, "See, Carl? Even if she's temporarily focused on helping you because of her guilt, she's not likely to stick around here to see it through. She's young, she's not… _bad_-looking, and if it's not this guy, it'll be some other guy she's out doing jello shots with every night while you're here telling yourself she's the best friend you ever had."

Red rose up to obscure Juliet's vision.

_That is __**it**__._

"Listen here, you sanctimonious little—"

"Juliet!" Carlton interrupted sharply, getting to his feet. "I've got this. Look, Victoria, let's get a few things straight. First and foremost, Juliet O'Hara _is_ the best friend I've ever had. She's been at my side for the last seven years and there's no one I trust more. No one. In contrast, the most civil conversation I've had with _you_ in the past seven years is the night I signed the divorce papers. So drop this line of attack now, because honestly, it makes you sound like a dumbass."

Victoria got up too, face aflame. "Pointing out the obvious doesn't make me a dumbass. You may think you can do this alone but you're not ready. No one would be ready after only a week. You shouldn't be alone, and you shouldn't be 'cared for' by the same person who created this nightmare."

"The nightmare," he said coldly, "is the idea that _you_ want to be the one who steps up. You don't _know_ me now, and you didn't much like me when you did. I'm not the same man you married. I'm not even the same man you kicked out. You said yourself that time changes perspectives; well, mine changed too, because the truth is, even if Juliet _were_ a raging drunk, I'd _still_ rather take my chances with her than you."

Victoria let out a breath, her color still high and her hands in fists.

"And furthermore," Carlton went on with icy precision, "she is also the single most beautiful woman I have ever known, so you can take that 'not bad-looking' crap and shove it up your—"

"I think you've said enough," she interrupted. "I know I've _heard_ enough."

Juliet, heart pounding and feeling slightly giddy with… _everything_, stepped in. "I have something to add." She turned to Shawn. "I was not drinking because I was depressed about our breakup. I am not now nor have I ever been depressed about our breakup. I _have_ been depressed that I let the sham go on as long as it did, letting you lie to me and disrespect me and totally ignore me while simultaneously tormenting my partner, undercutting our work and stealing Gus blind. But depressed that it's over? No."

He deflated. She moved on.

"As for you," she directed at Victoria, "the most important thing you should get out of what Carlton just said to you is that he is just about the most loyal, steadfast, decent man in Santa Barbara. You probably didn't know that. I bet there's a lot you didn't know about him even when you were together. But I know a lot of things, like how you treated him during your separation. How you jerked him around and dragged it out and made him think there was hope when there wasn't any. I know all these things because I was _there_ and I was paying attention. And I'm not perfect by any means, but I _am_ his friend, and if he needs a protector I will always be the first damn person in line for that job, because that's how important he is to me and will be for the rest of my life." She drew in a breath. "Now, if you please, allow _me_ to be the one to tell you to get the hell out."

Victoria gave her a furious glare, but when Juliet—who had faced down hardened criminals—met that glare unflinchingly, she turned to Carlton and started to speak.

As if he could see right through her, he cut her off. "And take Spencer with you."

Shawn was still boggling at Juliet, and for a moment she was sure he really didn't have any idea what she was talking about.

But now, she simply didn't have to care.

Too stunned to argue in his case, and too pissed not to stalk off in her case, Shawn and Victoria walked silently to the door, which Juliet politely held open and locked the moment they were on the other side.

Remaining at the door, she looked at Carlton, marveling at the last few minutes.

He was still standing. "For the love of God, please tell me they're gone."

When she said yes, he sank back into his chair and pulled off the sunglasses, quickly removing the bandages as well and pinning her down immediately with those crystal blue, lit-from-within eyes.

"Juliet," he said huskily. "I only _just_ got you. I'll be damned if anyone gets in the way."

Suddenly she felt completely boneless, but she made it over to him and deposited herself in his lap, swinging her leg around him and cupping his warm face in her hands.

Carlton relaxed at once, his gaze softening and a small smile forming.

"I told you last night, didn't I? You cannot lose me." She kissed his forehead, and Carlton sighed, seeking her mouth with his.

The kiss was sweet and intimate and gradually everything set itself aright again. His arms enclosed her and she melted against him—with him. _With_ him.

He slid his hands up under her shirt, along her back, unhooking her bra while he kissed her with a greater fervency, and Juliet undid his belt so she could tug his shirt out of his pants.

"I should ask you about Nardi," he murmured against her upper chest, undoing the top buttons and exposing the green silk of her bra.

"Yeah, but I'm busy right now." She licked his lips and moved suggestively in his lap.

His intake of breath was sharp, and in the next second he'd scooped her closer and was on his feet, carrying her past the sofa and down the hall and into his bedroom.

_Their_ bedroom.

The plush blue eyeball was on the floor at the end of the bed, and Carlton kicked it back into the hall before setting her down.

But Juliet couldn't let go of him. She couldn't.

Carlton laughed, thinking she was teasing, but after a moment he looked more intently at her and she saw that he got it. That he understood what she was feeling and that he felt it too.

Staying within her tight embrace, he eased himself onto the bed beside her and just held her, kissing her for the longest, sweetest time.

She had never felt more perfect, more connected, more joined with a man in her life, and they were still mostly dressed and only kissing.

"I meant it, you know." He whispered the words along her throat, nuzzling her earlobe. "About you being the most beautiful woman I've ever seen."

Her heart swelled, because she felt his sincerity. "And about preferring a drunk over her?"

"Any day." He slid his hand under her blouse again, finding her breast.

Juliet arched into the touch, sighing as desire ramped up. "I would have applauded, but I was too stunned to move."

Now his warm lips moved down to where his fingertips already caressed her. "How did it go over with Spencer?"

"Oh, Carlton," she said with a sigh, opening her blouse fully for him. "I really could not care less right now."

"Come to think of it,"—and he sounded just as breathless—"neither can I."

His mouth closed over her nipple, and Juliet lost herself to the touch of her man.

**. . . .**

**. . .**


	10. Chapter 10: Visitation

**CHAPTER TEN: Visitation**

**. . . .**

**. . .**

_**(a wee bit o' M again)**_

**. . . .**

**. . .**

Sunday was the day Juliet's family got wind of her travails. Her phone rang every fifteen minutes, and by the time she'd heard from her mother, several brothers, a couple of aunts and at least ten friends from the Miami PD and her college buds—all of whom got the same "thank you for calling, I'm working it out, and I'll call you soon, I swear"—she was worn out.

The conversation with her mother was the worst, because she had to beg her not to fly out to see her. She finally silenced her with a promise that she'd come home for a visit in the near future, and would call in a few days with more information.

"Just my luck, Frank will show up," she groused.

Her head was in Carlton's lap, and her feet were up on the arm of the glider out on his patio in the afternoon sunshine.

"Yeah, that's exactly what you need. Have you seen him since…" _Hmm. Careful wording here, boy._

"The big father-daughter reconciliation?" Her tone was dry. "No."

"I still can't believe Spencer put you through that." He'd maintained a low simmer of anger about the whole thing. Juliet hadn't had the presence of mind to say much about it to him while it was going on, but he had eyes, and after it was over—and leaving out her _feelings_ about Spencer's actions—she told him most of what happened.

"Me either, but c'est la Shawn." She half smiled. "C'est la Frank, too. Big talker, probably with sincerely good intentions, but ultimately scared and completely unable to follow through."

This was another reason Juliet's basic nature would have bound her to 'take care' of Carlton if his blindness were real: she would never let herself abdicate her responsibilities (even self-imposed), not after being disappointed so often by her father abdicating his.

"His loss," he said with authority.

"No argument here. I am a kick-ass daughter, after all."

Carlton laughed and agreed, and loved her, and wanted to say so. Repeatedly.

Eyes closed, she asked, "As for the rest of the family, how many lies before I go straight to hell?"

"You haven't hit the daily limit yet. I was counting."

Juliet opened her eyes again, grinning and inspiring him to lean down and kiss her upturned sweet mouth.

"Mmm," she sighed. "Thank you."

Carlton stroked her soft hair. "Any time."

"How about now?"

He obliged, earning another sigh, and he was happy with that.

"Thank you again. Apropos of nothing, you have something on your mind."

Startled, he stopped stroking her hair. Juliet sat up and scooched next to him, her arm around his shoulder, her hand caressing the back of his neck.

"You know I can read your innermost thoughts," she added with a straight face.

He wasn't surprised. "You probably can. You're more psychic than Spencer by a mile."

_In which case, you already know I love you._

She smiled, but her next words were quiet. "Don't make me guess what it is, please."

Carlton turned his head to kiss her fingertips briefly, and never considered trying to put her off further. "It was something from the confrontation yesterday. When The Exes were here."

One eyebrow arched. "Oh? What—you no longer think I'm hot?"

He retorted, "I've developed first-degree burns over the last twenty-four hours, so yeah, I still think you're hot."

Juliet laughed and stole a kiss—well, okay, he gave it up willingly—and a series of images flashed through his head and hormones regarding how much time they'd spent in bed since The Exes left. Exquisite was his lovely and voracious Juliet, as hungry for him as he was for her. That they'd gone almost two hours mostly dressed this afternoon was remarkable.

"Then what is it?" She nibbled on his earlobe, fingers tantalizing the skin of his throat.

Somewhat strangled, he pointed out that such behavior would keep him from answering coherently.

Clearly she was torn, especially after he slid his hand under her (his) (_their_) tee.

But then she got up from the glider and stood before him, arms crossed. "Okay, let's hear it."

He was reluctant to bring reality back to the foreground, and not just because he was already completely aroused.

"Carlton, come on. There is absolutely no room for secrets between us."

Sighing, he crossed his own arms and began. "It was during Victoria's riff on how you weren't likely to stick around. That you'd get tired and move on."

Juliet's frown deepened. "Well, she was wrong. And you're not—"

"I know. The situation isn't even real. But I can't help wonder..." He felt chilled now, despite the sun warming his skin. "When this case started you were still blaming yourself for the Dozier crap, and since then it's just been the two of us holed up together. I can't help... think that when this is all over, and we go back to our routines, you might feel different and—"

"No," she interrupted flatly. "No. Because in the first place, it's 'just been the two of us' for a lot longer than the past week. The problem is I've been looking the other way and wasting precious time."

Carlton's heart was constricting. "Juliet. You know what I'm like."

She smiled. "Yes, Carlton. I know what you're like. You're crabby and short-fused and spend too much time at the gun range. You need serious help figuring out your squirrel problem, you never let me drive unless I threaten to shoot you, and yeah, there've been times when your annoyance with Shawn made you refuse to look in a direction he suggested even when it was the right idea."

This wasn't sounding too good, he thought uncomfortably.

Then she bent, put her hands on his shoulders, and went on softly, "You're also the guy who taught me to be a good cop, the guy who stands up for me even when I don't deserve it, and the guy who overrode direct orders—and incidentally sacrificed a gun—to save me from Yin. You take great pains to hide your inner nice guy, but I've seen the size of your heart and I think you're absolutely wonderful." She leaned in to kiss his forehead gently. "And all of that was true before last week."

Carlton cupped her face and kissed her smiling mouth, pulling her back down into his lap and wrapping his arms around her.

"Plus you have gorgeous eyes," Juliet mumbled against his neck, "and are the sexiest man I've ever known."

He squeezed her, his heart too full for words.

"So does that answer your question?" she prompted.

Carlton tilted her head back and smiled. "What do you think?"

"_I_ think I'm very eloquent. What do _you_ think?"

She was indeed eloquent, but he knew how to express himself in other ways. One arm around her back, he slid his other hand down the soft fabric of her tee and then under it, but when her lovely dark blue eyes went wide with anticipation, he changed tack and slipped his fingers under the waistband of her jeans instead.

"Ohhh..." She squirmed a bit.

He took that squirm as a green light, unzipping the jeans to allow more room for his curious fingers, covering her mouth with his in the same move.

Juliet met his advances—her tongue to his, her body arching to welcome his hand.

So warm, so silky... he murmured to her amid kisses, amid stroking, and whether it was his fingers or his kisses or both combined, it wasn't long before her sighs turned to anxious moans and her head fell back as her pleasure overtook her other senses.

Carlton kissed her throat and breathed in her scent, the wanting already up to a low roar.

She quivered her way over the edge, gasping and shuddering, and while he was basking in what he considered fully justified male pride, she sat up more fully to kiss him, already working her hand between them to return all favors—and in the condo, wafting out the open patio door, a trilling could be heard.

Not her cell... that was on the patio table. Not his; it was off.

"Berman," she said suddenly. "The secure line. Crap."

No question but she had to answer. Scrambling unsteadily off of him with a stern, "Hold that thought," she hurried inside.

But he followed, because as soon as she was off the phone, he intended to drag her to bed proper.

Leaning against the back of the sofa and watching her flushed and disheveled and so very damned desirable self, Carlton marveled at the turn his life had taken the past few days.

It was the stuff of dreams—of other people's dreams, anyway.

His dream stopped the trilling with a brisk, "O'Hara."

In an instant, her expression changed, and his senses prickled.

"Okay. I'll let you know." She disconnected and looked at him in shock. "He says Hugo's on his way up. They saw him entering the building."

Carlton grabbed for his dark glasses as Juliet put the phone away.

"Go in the bedroom," she said, zipping up her jeans and fluffing her hair.

"O'Hara, I am not leaving you alone with him."

"Carlton, please. Until I know what he wants, you need to stand clear."

Frustrated, he started to argue, but she was right. "You know I have a weapon in there. Just in case."

"He's not going to shoot me. Not now. Just… just go, please!"

_Not now_? Not _ever_, dammit.

The knock came in the next instant, and with a scowl, Carlton went into the bedroom and closed the door.

But not completely—and he could hear just fine.

Juliet pulled the front door open. "What are you doing here?"

"Visiting," the man said smoothly, and brushed past her.

She started to block him—Carlton nearly broke from his post to rush out there—but let it go; better he should come in than loiter outside.

Hugo Nardi fit the description she'd given him a few days ago: watchful, sharp, going for suave. He walked by a fuming Juliet and surveyed the condo as if he owned it.

(Carlton made a note to check on who did own Prospect Gardens. Just his luck it _was_ a mob holding.)

"I ask you again," she said quietly, "what are you doing here?" She circled back to stand between him and the rest of the condo: instinct to protect the condo's main inhabitant, and he was proud even though it should have been him out there.

Hugo smiled coldly. "Just checking on you, Juliet. You asked enough questions the last time we talked that I thought I should make sure our deal's still in place."

"It's in place." She was terse. "You had no reason to doubt."

"Hmmm. And where's the patient? I was _so_ hoping to meet him."

Yeah, Carlton didn't like him any better than Juliet did.

"He's resting. You don't need to meet him, and why the hell would you want to sabotage—" She stopped, and Carlton could tell by the stiffening of her shoulders that she was trying to remain calm. Or acting the part very well, which was the point.

"Resting," he repeated, eyeing her critically. "This would be a euphemism for 'in the bedroom wondering what's taking so long.'"

"What's _that_ supposed to mean?"

Hugo smirked. "You have the distinct appearance of a woman who either just got well-screwed or was about to get well-screwed, so I can only imagine _his_ appearance right now."

"What the hell is wrong with you?" she hissed. "Get out."

And even though it was true—her color high, her hair disheveled—Carlton had had enough. Glasses on—and first making sure _he_ was zipped up and tidy—he stepped out of the bedroom slowly. "Juliet? Who's here?"

_Look in their direction, but do not make eye contact._

He focused on Hugo's right shoulder, but he could see Juliet's legitimate surprise and unease, and Hugo was certainly intrigued.

She said, "Carlton," and came to meet him, taking his elbow but not letting him go any closer.

Hugo looked Carlton over (to which Carlton could not let himself react with the sneer he felt bubbling up inside). "It's an honor to meet you, Detective Lassiter. I've read a lot about you over the years."

Okay, maybe a little sneer. Old habit. "It's Mister Lassiter now. Who are you?"

"A new friend of Miss O'Hara's. I just stopped by to say hello and offer my best wishes." He came closer but Carlton wisely ignored the cue to shake hands.

Hugo, despite his cockiness, was nonplussed; obviously belatedly remembering _oh yeah, he's blind_, he dropped his hand. This was good, because Carlton didn't want touch the rat bastard anyway.

"His name is Hugo," Juliet said pointedly, and Carlton could feel her tension just from the grip she maintained on his elbow.

"Yes," he agreed absently, surveying the room again. "It is. Nice place." He ran his fingers along the edge of the dining room table, his back to them now, and Juliet stole a quick look at Carlton, eyebrows up.

"What can we do for you, Hugo?" Carlton asked, not bothering to sound overly polite.

"Me? Oh, nothing." He turned smoothly, and perhaps because Carlton was looking at his chest instead of his face, he spotted Hugo's subtle hand movement. "Just came to say hello, as I said."

_Game on, buddy._

"Then thank you for coming by," Juliet said brightly. "Let me see you out."

He had the nerve to chuckle, but didn't otherwise stop her from urging him to the door, smiling down at her benignly before stepping into the hall. "Be well, both of you, and Mr. Lassiter, the city certainly appreciates your years of service."

Carlton nodded, Juliet nodded, Hugo waved, and she couldn't lock the door fast enough after he was gone.

She leaned against it, mouth agape.

Carlton said, "How do you know him?"

Juliet frowned.

He pointed to the edge of the table. "Is he from the hospital?"

Her eyes widened as she understood his gesture. "Yeah... he talked to me once or twice in the cafeteria." She bent to scan the table's underside, and nodded at him when she rose.

"How did he know where I lived?" He was trying to sound curious but not overly suspicious.

"He..." She faltered. "Well, I assumed he was a hospital employee. He must have looked you up in their database."

"Pretty odd visit. Did he flirt with you when you were there?" That was a reasonable question for an insecure newly blind man, wasn't it?

"I... well, I don't think so. I was pretty focused on you, so if he was flirting, I definitely didn't notice. Creepy guy, though, huh," she said, a gleam in her eye which told him she hoped Hugo was listening that very second.

"Uh, yeah. Seemed like it to me."

"Well, he's gone now." With another glance at the table and its newly planted bug, she said, "So… if I recall correctly, didn't I tell you to stay where you were? So I could pick up where I left off?"

He grinned. "I'm blind, not helpless. I got tired of waiting."

"Oh, I'll _make_ you helpless," Juliet promised in a most wicked tone. "You'll be begging for mercy soon enough."

"Maybe it'll be you doing the begging," he suggested.

"Just get going, boy." She retrieved the secure phone quickly and silently and herded him into the bedroom. Pausing in the doorway to exclaim and laugh—as if he'd goosed her—she closed it firmly and followed him into the far corner.

"You saw it," he whispered. "He planted it when he turned back around."

"Not bad for a blind guy. What kind of range you think it has?"

"Probably just the main room but we'll need to be careful now."

"Honeymoon's over," she said grimly. "I thought he was just trying to rub it in that he's in charge, and I couldn't figure out why he'd risk you finding out and stopping me. But I guess the real reason was to plant the bug." Turning on the phone, she keyed in Berman's number.

"His insurance policy, maybe to find out what you were telling me. He's not stupid. We're both dedicated cops with good records and he'd be an idiot to think we'd both go to the dark side so fast."

She nodded, and Berman answered, so she whispered her report to him and listened to his answers. "Okay," she said. "Tomorrow."

Disconnecting, she put the phone on the windowsill and drew Carlton to stand closer to her, arms around his neck—an oddly informal setting for a very work-related conversation.

"He said the bug's just one more piece of evidence against DiMera's people. He wants us to take photos but otherwise play along. I'm supposed to check in with him tomorrow to get the final details on the 'hit.'"

Carlton nodded, and while he was thinking about exactly how careful their main room conversations would need to be, Juliet smiled and reached up to kiss him.

"Mmmm," he murmured, returning the kiss. "Work makes you feel romantic?"

"No, you standing this close to me makes me feel romantic." She pulled him even closer, until he gave in and pressed her to the wall.

She smelled so good and was so warm and soft and why was she wearing so many clothes?

"Besides," she said with a nip to his earlobe, "I really do want to pick up where we left off, you know."

"Well, you understand I couldn't exactly stay on the patio with my zipper down." He nuzzled her throat.

"Me either," she agreed with a laugh. "But we're behind closed doors now, aaaand..."

Aaaand... her nimble fingers were at his zipper again. Carlton didn't stop her, since he was preoccupied with getting her jeans off as well. In short order, their shirts were on the floor, and they fell back on the rumpled bed already entwined.

Juliet was as warm and soft but _ever_ so much more decadent and silky with fewer clothes on, yes she was.

"You sure..." she gasped as he touched her in a rather sensitive area, "... that thing can't hear through... oh _God..._ the door?"

"Oh, he _will_ hear you screaming," Carlton growled, "if I do it right."

Her laughter turned to a moan when his mouth found her breast, and he honestly lost all track of where he was once she set her attention on returning every caress with a wicked one of her own.

Naked with Juliet was a very good place to be, he thought between spasms of pleasure, listening devices be damned.

And as their deliciously intimate activities progressed, he was pretty sure Hugo would indeed be able to hear Juliet just fine through the closed door... because _hell_ _yeah_, he was abso-freaking-_lutely_ doing it right.

**. . . .**

**. . .**


	11. Chapter 11: The Hit

**CHAPTER ELEVEN: The Hit**

**. . . .**

**. . .**

Now, Juliet felt, the mission was fully real, because now she and Carlton were truly under the microscope.

They made their plans in whispers, in bed, under the covers, interspersed with lovemaking—because desire was always so very close to the surface. She honestly couldn't fathom how she'd worked side-by-side with this long lean luscious blue-eyed man for years without being pulled inexorably into his grasp.

He was just so… delicious. Exploring his body, tasting the salt and heat of his skin, she was exhilarated by his arousal and his need and those glorious blue eyes which were every warm summer day and every deep blue sky just before sunset and a host of other incredibly accurate (albeit romance-novel-esque) phrases.

"What are you seeing when you look at me like that?" he asked with a gentle touch to her face.

"You," she answered simply, and a kiss said all the rest.

In the early evening they emerged from the bedroom and set about making dinner. Carlton did as much as he could with his eyes closed to authenticate his actions, even though it was only audio surveillance. It was interesting how much simple speech had to be adjusted; it wouldn't do for her to say, "turn down the water when it gets to a boil" or for him to say casually, "That looks as good as it smells."

She didn't think Hugo suspected Carlton wasn't blind. His main interest was to be certain she was sticking to the plan. But if they gave away the game with unguarded speech, it was all over now and she might as well be on actual suspension.

They ate at the table, very aware of the microphone underneath, and had a carefully scripted conversation about the next day. She reminded Carlton she had afternoon errands—grocery, pharmacy, a run by her place. They talked of upcoming (mythical) doctor's appointments for him. He expressed regret that she had to do all this by cab and suggested she call on a friend, or even Guster, but Juliet was cheerfully adamant she could do it alone. She wanted to be sure he'd be all right for the afternoon and they discussed an audiobook he would listen to. He wanted to get some exercise—sit-ups, push-ups, and so on—and she pointed out slyly he'd been 'exercising' with _her_ the last couple of days.

They flirted enough to either rev Hugo up or turn him off, and the side effect was that by the time they took everything back to the kitchen, Carlton had a gleam in his decidedly not-blind eyes and did some rather wicked things to her from behind while she was trying to wash the pots and pans and he was supposed to be drying them.

Yeah, they'd end up back to the bedroom before too long. She considered asking him to do her on the table above the microphone, but decided they probably didn't need to provide quite _that_ level of authenticity.

The nicest part of the evening was sitting on his sofa in the falling light, cozy together. Carlton told her more than he ever had about his summer weekends at Old Sonora; Juliet talked about her brothers and how her stepdad Lloyd filled the void Frank O'Hara had left in her young life. Lloyd was a little odd, she admitted, but he was steady and _there_ and that was more than she'd gotten from her blood relation.

And then they kissed, slow luxurious unhurried kisses, and Juliet thought of all the evenings she should have spent just like this, in his arms, in his love, a love she could feel enveloping her without him having admitted to it.

Carlton whispered sweet words, his breath warm against her ear, and it was far too much trouble to move to the bedroom now. They made love quietly, breathlessly, under the velvety blue throw, and Juliet fell asleep in the embrace of the man who already held her heart.

**. . . .**

**. . .**

Leaving for 'work' late Monday morning wasn't much different from other Mondays in Juliet's life—up, dressed, breakfasted, news read, mail checked, day organized—with one exception: she'd never before been held back and French-kissed at the front door by her freshly-showered and still half-undressed partner, best friend and lover on her way out.

But she could get used to that.

The 'trouble' started earlier when he asked for a shave, and this time actually let her do it for him. She could hardly concentrate with those ocean-blue eyes watching her, and Carlton seemed to have a little trouble too, and whether it was because they remembered how the previous shave ended or it was just their ongoing lust for each other, Juliet ended up on the bathroom counter with her legs around his waist, her moans echoing down the hall as he plundered her, shave forgotten, all forgotten—just need. Connection.

Damn.

Yes, she could get used to that too.

Refreshed if a bit dazed, Juliet set out at twelve for her assigned task.

Hugo had said every key player on his team would have a solid alibi during the afternoon, but that didn't mean she wasn't being watched by a lesser player, or eye-for-hire, so her first stop was at the hospital, supposedly to pick up meds and information for Carlton, but where Berman had arranged to meet her in one of the rooms along a back hallway.

He grinned at her. "You ready?"

"To pretend to kill a man I've never met? Bring it." She spoke with mock defiance, but something about Berman's expression gave her pause.

"About that. Damski wants to meet you."

"_What_?"

"Damski wants to meet the woman who's going to put him on the evening news." His tone was dry. "He said he wouldn't cooperate further unless he spoke with you first. I pointed out that I could kill him myself right there, but my supervisor said no."

"What is the point of—" She stopped. "You know what, whatever. I don't care. Let's just get this started already."

"Good choice. Come with me."

Juliet followed him out into the hall and down two doors into a small exam room filled with bristling Federal agents and one smirking killer.

Sage Damski, she thought, looked a lot like Gérard Depardieu on a bad day, which admittedly had to be most days for the aging and creepy actor. She didn't like Depardieu, and there was nothing to like about Damski either.

The agents parted and Juliet met Damski's appraising gaze without feeling the need to be polite.

"The lady killer," he said.

"That's the plan."

"Lovely, too," he added, and his smirk grew salacious.

Juliet inquired, "When it's time, would you prefer a shot between the eyes, or one directly to your crotch?"

Berman snickered. "We'll stick to the script, I think."

"Shame," she said sweetly. It was a mere chest shot, easier for all parties to fake.

Damski laughed, but then he could afford to laugh: the Feds were going to a lot of trouble to keep his worthless ass alive just to bring down DiMera and his operation, and so far as he knew, they'd have to drop their investigations into his other alleged crimes. "I like you."

"Glad to hear it. Are we done now? I really need to go refresh my memory about the weakest parts of a Kevlar vest."

His dark gaze flickered, and Juliet considered she'd won that round. She nodded to Berman, who took her back to their original meeting room.

Her itinerary was simple: in ninety minutes, Damski was going to go to his usual afternoon haunt, a beach bar close to the pier. From a pre-selected vantage point across the street at the mouth of an alley between a florist and a sidewalk boutique, a red-wigged Juliet was to wait until he stepped onto the deck, and at precisely 2:03, shoot him in the heart.

He would go down—and despite his innate nastiness, he simply had no reason not to cooperate now—with his conveniently burst blood pack, and 'customers' in the bar would rush to his aid, call the police, declare his deadness, etc.

Juliet would be long gone, of course: once the shot was fired, she was to high-tail it down the alley to a door Berman's people would have left unlocked, so she could make her escape unseen.

She wondered why they needed her to perform the 'kill' if no one was going to see her; any one of those agents could have fired the shot, or hell, they could have programmed the blood pack vest to explode with enough force to burst the pack and send Damski reeling.

But there needed to be a bullet, Berman reminded her, and the potential of witnesses, so the evening news would be full of colorful details (including the discovery of the wig in a nearby trash can after a 'witness' near the florist spoke of seeing a red-haired woman loitering near the alley before the shooting), all to convince Hugo and DiMera the deed was really done.

They gave her a wig which she could tell Hugo she'd had at home—necessitating a cab run by her apartment to 'prove' she'd picked it up—and with every detail in place, she was left only with a burning need to talk to Carlton. To hear his voice.

_Later_, she reminded herself. _Work now, be with him later_.

With forty-five minutes to spare, she found herself headed to the bar where she'd met Hugo Nardi to begin with. Might as well maintain that 'routine' as well.

The bartender nodded when she approached to order her drink. "Thought you'd moved on," he commented.

"Nope. Just couldn't get here this weekend. You missed me?"

He gave her a look. "You don't cause trouble, you don't ask to run a tab, and you're not bad-looking, so yeah. I always miss customers like you. Peanuts?"

Despite the laconic nature of the answer, she was amused, but found a table near the door before he could decide to chat her up.

Forty minutes. In twenty, a cab was picking her up to take her to a spot three blocks from the Alley Of Doom.

Three minutes later, Henry Spencer came in.

Juliet froze, glass halfway to her lips.

Too quickly, he scanned the dim room to find her, and without ceremony, sat down and folded his arms on the table. "Hey."

"Henry. Nice to see you." She took a swallow, bracing herself for what the senior Spencer might have lined up for her.

"Yeah? I don't know if it's nice to see you. Not in a bar, anyway."

"Take what you can get," she suggested mildly.

"Guess I have to. So what's going on with you and Lassiter and Shawn?"

She gave him a look similar to the one the bartender had given her. "There's no longer anything going on with me and Shawn, I'm taking care of Carlton, and what's your real question?"

His eyes—faded blue, but sharp as ever—locked on hers. "Juliet. I know it's early days yet, but from what Shawn said it sounds like you've dug your heels in and set your course already."

"Meaning what, mixed clichés aside?"

"Meaning you shouldn't be so sure _you're_ the one who has to do all the taking care of Lassiter."

Juliet sighed. "What did Shawn say? Is this about his pride, because I broke it off with him?"

Henry blinked. "You broke it off with him?"

Now she got it. "Uh yeah, about a month ago. He's had a little trouble accepting it."

"Oh." He was annoyed. "I guess he has."

_Shawn_, she thought, _you are so very selective with the details you share_.

"So what did he say? I'm neglecting him, and he's worried about me because I've subjugated myself to a life of drudgery, since no one could ever stand to make a life with Carlton?"

He leaned back. "Something like that."

"And what do you think?" she challenged him.

Surprised again, he shifted in the chair and looked away for a moment. "What do I think?"

"Yes. You think I'd be wasting my life if I built it around Carlton? My best friend and long-time partner and the person I trust most in the world?"

He studied her. "I didn't hear the word love in there."

Juliet said quietly, "That's because it's none of your business."

"Okay, look." Henry rested his arms on the table again, obviously feeling he was back on firmer ground. "I knew a cop a lot of years ago who lost his sight as a result of a shooting. He had a wife, a gal who was crazy in love with him, and she thought what you might be thinking: that she could be what he needed for as long as he needed it."

She took a sip, keeping her expression neutral.

"But the more she tried to be everything for him, the more he needed to be the man he was before. Independent. He ended up feeling smothered, and they split up, and nobody was happy. Now, I know Lassiter. He's spent the last twenty years being the best damn cop he could be and going it alone the whole time. Except for you as his partner and what passed for his marriage, he's never let himself rely on anyone. For a man like that, being _forced_ to rely is a bitter pill, maybe even more bitter than being blind. He may come to resent you, and all those feelings you think you have now really won't amount to much when it all shakes out."

Thing was, she knew Henry could be right about Carlton, if this scenario was legit. Except Carlton _wasn't_ blind, and his fears were mainly that she was with him now because of her failure to be there after Dozier nearly killed him.

It was going to be so hard to rebuild these friendships when the truth came out, and she felt a little sick at the prospect that some of them might not survive.

"Henry," she said slowly. "I know you mean well. I even know you can see Carlton's innate value and decency."

He nodded.

"And you know something about me as well. You know I could have requested a new partner or transferred out a long time ago. If I couldn't handle working with Carlton—if we weren't the best team ever, particularly when Shawn's not around to distract me into sabotaging it—I'd have moved on to something more peaceful by now. I know Carlton, just like you do, but at a deeper level, and it's been that way for years, not just the past week."

"Your feelings for him," he started. "They—"

"My feelings run deep, I'll say that much. But they're also honest, Henry, and they take into account who Carlton is, good and bad, bad-tempered and gold-hearted—and if you ever tell him I outed his secret niceness, I'll kick your ass." She smiled. "I learned a lot from Shawn about what I need in a man. In a relationship. I owe him for that, even if it's not quite the impact he intended. And I appreciate you trying to steer me right, and I know you're thinking I'll come around in a few months and tell you I should have listened, but it's not going to happen."

He gave her a patented Henry Spencer Look of Appraisal, and for a few moments she thought she'd squashed him.

"So… why are you in a bar, drinking?"

Juliet took a deep breath.

"Why were you in a bar the day of the accident?"

_Crap._

"Henry, did you follow me here?"

He smiled. "Maybe. Almost lost you when you left the hospital; your cabbie took some creative turns."

_Double crap_: if Hugo did have someone watching her, then Henry tailing her might have been noticed, too.

"Where is the line, exactly, between friendly concern and outright stalking?"

He was taken aback. "Stalking? Come on, it's not like that. It's just hard to get you alone when you're holed up in Lassiter's bunker 24/7."

"You understand he's not the only one who experienced a traumatic event, right? _I'm_ not quite ready to face the world either. It's kind of a big deal to even come here for a drink, and to answer your question, it's because I don't want to drink around _him_, not after what I did. I'm not an alcoholic, Henry. You know that. I just screwed up big-time, _one_ time, and I'll pay the price forever, and if Scotch once a day for a while helps soothe a few of my self-ruffled feathers, I don't really see the problem."

"Juliet…" But he trailed off.

Juliet glanced at her watch. "I'm expecting a cab in a few minutes to take me to my next stop. You want me to ask him to drive slowly so you can keep up? Maybe at the library we can talk about Shawn's grasp of what a breakup means."

"Ah, no, I don't think that'll be necessary. I'm sorry, kid. Can't help but be concerned."

"Yeah, I know." She downed her drink and collected her bag, and when she got up, she gave him a smile. "It's just sad that everyone's concerned about my future, but no one seems to give a damn about Carlton."

Protesting, he followed her out into the sunshine, but she'd wanted that: she wanted any potential DiMera spies to see her disagreement with Henry.

"People do care," he said emphatically. "More than you realize. But those of us who _know_ him aren't going to push right now because we're still trying to get our heads around what happened ourselves. We just don't want you to lock yourself into a world you're no more ready for than he is."

"Henry, any place I lock myself with Carlton is a place I choose to be." She patted his arm. "Now come on, if you're still stalking me. I have to check out some Civil War audiobooks."

He put up his hands in defeat. "Okay, okay. Just remember I'm here for you. _Both_ of you. All right?"

She gave him a quick hug, and tipped the cabbie extra for showing up a few minutes early to rescue her.

Next stop, the library—making sure Henry's rattle-trap truck wasn't in sight (honestly, how could she have missed it earlier?).

_Maybe because you were thinking about being _'_locked up_'_ in the bedroom with Carlton, you hussy_.

Yeah, well, the shoe did fit.

Into the restroom, on with the red wig which had been stuffed in her purse, out of the restroom, into another cab at the north side of the lot.

Dropped off three blocks from the beach bar, she sauntered along the sidewalks, window shopping and seeing enough of her reflection to decide dark blonde was a better look for her. She loitered at the florist, inspecting the flowers outside near the alley.

She had a clear view of the bar and its side deck, as well as the pink and blue umbrellas which shaded the afternoon customers from the beach-side sun. Her angle was such that if she _were_ of a homicidal nature, she might have chosen such a spot herself.

It was fifty yards, give or take, from the alley's mouth to where Damski wandered out onto the shady deck.

Juliet checked her watch again.

In an alternate universe, could she really do this? Could she really kill a man to make money to help Carlton?

The answer was the same as the last few times she'd asked herself.

2:03.

She raised the pistol and shot the son of a bitch.

**. . . .**

**. . .**


	12. Chapter 12: Respite

**CHAPTER TWELVE: Respite**

**. . . .**

**. . .**

Carlton realized he'd never known the true meaning of 'bonkers' until he was driven there by wondering what the hell was happening with Juliet… for two hours and forty long-ass minutes.

She'd been gone since noon, the hit was supposed to be at 2:03, and after fleeing the scene, she was off to complete her ordinary, domestic little errands. He knew she'd be home by four, but it was only 2:40 and he honestly thought he might have to put his foot through the wall just to have a proper distraction.

Plus the cursing would liven up Hugo's recording.

But no.

No.

_He_. Had. To. Wait. Quietly.

He could do almost anything quietly for his job. When quiet mattered, Carlton Lassiter was The King of Quiet.

But he hated waiting quietly when the waiting wasn't his choice, and having to wait quietly while Juliet faked the murder of a man under the direction of the FBI, now that she was his lover, now that she was _his_… that wasn't working out so well.

Quietly, he padded to the kitchen and poured a quiet bourbon and quietly drank it down fast.

He started to pour another but stopped, because he might not stop at two and it was doubtful Juliet would understand him being snockered, quietly or otherwise, when she got home.

_Home. _

He did so love the idea of "when Juliet got home."

Feeling three to four percent better, he quietly put the bottle away, quietly rinsed the glass and returned to the living room, quietly giving the finger to the bug as he passed the table.

Then he picked up the laptop and scarpered off to the bedroom, closing the door firmly against Hugo's mechanical ear—no keyboard tapping sounds, thank you—and set out to quietly look for breaking news about public murders of alleged criminals.

**. . . .**

**. . .**

Karen Vick knocked on the door of #536, replaying the day's events thus far.

The most _recent_ interesting thing was the three-line email she'd gotten from Carlton half an hour earlier which inquired as to the official listening range of a specific brand of eavesdropping device. That was the first line. The second line said, "Bring Starbucks." The third line said, "If you don't mind, please."

His voice came from inside: "Who is it?"

She was about to ask why he couldn't just look through the peephole, but fortunately her brain returned in time. "Karen Vick, bearing coffee."

Carlton opened the door and stepped back; his dark glasses were on. "Hi. I wasn't expecting anyone, but coffee always gets a free pass." He pointed to the table, making an 'under' motion to show her where the bug was.

"That's why I brought it. Is Juliet here? I got three just in case."

"No, she went out to run some errands. She should be back soon."

He closed the door and Karen set the carrier on the table, bending quickly to see where the device was. She had emailed him the technical information, and glancing around the condo judged the sofa was within range, but around the corner into the kitchen might be safe. Out on the patio with the glass door firmly shut would probably be okay too, if they spoke quietly.

"It's very nice outside," she said. "Coffee on your patio?" She pulled two of the cups from the carrier, and gestured meaningfully.

He led the way, made some vague remark at the glass door as he pretended to fumble for the handle, and was quick to close it behind them.

They sat in chairs set well away from the door, and Karen handed him his cup. "We'll use our 'inside' voices."

Pocketing his sunglasses with a nod, he drank deep of nirvana, and she thought he looked rested in a way she'd never seen before, while at the same time clearly agitated about Juliet.

"When did the… insect arrive?"

"Personal installation yesterday afternoon. He wanted her to think it was just a drop-in intimidation but I spotted him planting it."

"Good." She sipped her coffee. "Everything happened on schedule, so far as I can tell from the breadcrumbs Berman calls updates. We got the 911 call but the Feds didn't let our team past the perimeter, saying they had it covered, and thank you very much."

Those bright blue eyes zoomed in on her. "I was checking online but didn't find anything. Suspects?"

"Not at present." She smiled. "Sounds like it went according to plan."

"God, I hope so," he breathed, and took another slug of coffee.

With his head tilted back, she could not help but notice a small bruise at the base of his throat on the side.

_Ahhhhhh…_

This brought her back to the _first_ very interesting event of her day. "Everything okay here, before as well as after the extra ears arrived?"

Carlton glanced at her. "Yeah. We've been careful. I don't think we've said anything to blow our cover."

Karen nodded. "And between you and Juliet?"

His expression changed ever-so-slightly. "Everything's fine."

_Mmm-hmmm_. "Just… fine?"

"Yes."

"I see."

With familiar impatience, he demanded, "Karen, _what_? I told you we'd work out our issue the other day, and we did. Everything's _fine_."

She nodded. "That's what I heard. _More_ than fine, in fact."

Slowly, red crept up into his cheeks. "What the hell does that mean—Spencer. _Dammit_." He sank back into the chair, pissed off. "Whatever he's saying about Juliet, you take it with a salt block. I don't care what he says about me, but Juliet is off limits."

"You're _both_ off limits, as far as I'm concerned."

When his vivid but now unnerved blue gaze came back her way, she reached over and patted his arm.

"It's okay, but I do need to know what's really going on. I'm fairly certain his version lacks that thing we like to call… hmmm, what is it… oh yes, _truth_."

Half-smile, half-scowl. Only Carlton could manage that precise look.

"What did he say?"

She decided to grant him a little leeway; at least he'd be honest when he did answer, which was something she could never count on with Shawn Spencer. "He turned up in my office this morning to wail about a huge travesty, a horrifying injustice, and a matter of grave concern. I think that's a quote. He went on to explain you'd gone all Svengali on Juliet, and he thought I should step in to be sure you weren't taking advantage of her kind nature in your time of trauma, which, he further offered, should be dealt with by professionals out of state, preferably Maine, and he'd help you pack and move personally, as early as next week, because there's a Val Kilmer film festival this weekend he just can't miss."

Carlton stared at her, frowning. "And _I'm_ the one who needs help?"

Karen grinned. "He said he'd suppressed this information as long as he possibly could, but the time had come to speak out."

"What, forty-eight hours before he cracked?"

"Actually it was more like eight. He started leaving me voicemails Saturday night, but since he never said what the emergency was and I was fairly confident I had police staff on duty who could assist him like any other citizen, I decided _not_ to come back early from a weekend away with my family."

"Good," he muttered. "Svengali? _Seriously_?"

"Yep. He said the two of you invited him and Victoria over for lunch, but no sooner did they arrive than you started shouting at everyone and forcing Juliet to agree with whatever you said. He said she was obviously cowed by your apparent psychotic break but was too starry-eyed about being your savior to see how far gone she was. He begged me to intervene."

Carlton's frown was impressively thunderous.

"Begged," she repeated, allowing a small smile.

The frown cleared slowly. "And how much of this steaming crock of crap did you believe?"

"The begging."

He smirked. "Try this version. He showed up with Victoria uninvited. She insisted I let her take care of me, and then began insulting Juliet. I called her on it, Spencer interrupted to explain that Juliet was really heartbroken over him, Juliet called _him_ on _that_, and we threw them out."

She tilted her head. "Much more plausible."

"Thought so," he said with satisfaction.

"Except for the part where he insisted there was something going on between you and Juliet."

The faint red returned to his face. "I don't—"

"And it hasn't been that long since I gave one of those to my husband," she added cheerfully, gesturing vaguely toward the hickey on his neck.

"Son of a bitch," he snapped, but not really at her. He got up and paced a minute while she placidly sipped coffee, but returned to the chair and threw himself down. "What do you want me to say?"

"Well, I'd _like_ the truth, because it won't be too long before you're back to work, and as your supervisor, I should really be kept apprised of things like this."

Carlton hesitated.

"You don't agree?" she inquired. "I'd have thought your natural inclination to follow protocol would kick in around now."

Still he hesitated. "If there's anything to tell, we should tell you together."

_Interesting._

"If?"

He let out a heavy sigh, and set the coffee on the patio floor. "Karen. If it were up to me I'd screw protocol and expectations and just… _be_ with her, and the hell with my career."

She was surprised he'd so quickly admitted the truth at all, not to mention that there was a time he wouldn't have even considered bucking policy again—if not to protect his own career, then to protect Juliet's—which told her exactly how deeply he cared for her.

"If?" she repeated, keeping her tone gentle.

"I can't think of any reason Juliet would…" He stopped, staring at the tile, or at his hands, or at his feet.

Karen waited a few moments and then prompted him with, "Why?"

Shaking his head, he pinched the bridge of his nose wearily and sat back again. "You _know_ me. You know _her_. Truth is, there's a chance she could be motivated by guilt. You remember I told you I was in the hospital about six weeks ago?"

"Yes, and I only just found out you didn't tell _her_ at the time."

He shrugged. "Where she went, Spencer would tag along. I didn't need that, so I didn't tell her. I had no plans to ever tell her, but somehow I seem to be completely unable to stonewall that woman when she's determined to find something out."

Karen smiled. Who'd have thought Carlton 'Tough Guy' Lassiter could be such a pushover? "Then you trained her well, Detective."

A trace of amusement brightened his face briefly. "Anyway, she's got a lot of unwarranted guilt about that weekend. How she should have known. How she should have been there. Now this case is all about me being incapacitated and having to rely on her, and I think it's possible that when it's all over, she could see things differently."

"You mean, she could see the _two of you_ differently. As a unit."

"Yeah." He rubbed his temples. "Just know that if she wises up and breaks it off, you don't have to worry about me having hysterics in your office the first time she dates someone else."

"Glad to hear it," she said dryly. "But don't underestimate her heart, Carlton. Juliet doesn't strike me as a woman who makes rash romantic decisions. Granted, Shawn Spencer was an odd choice, but in her defense, he did have to work on her for years. And now that it's over, I don't see her rushing into a new relationship unless she's very sure it's the right one for her."

Carlton was staring at the floor again, pink—but a hopeful pink.

"We are, I presume, talking about a relationship and not merely a fling?"

"I hope so." There was a raw honesty in his voice which touched her.

"Okay, look. I'm confident you two will conduct yourselves professionally in the workplace and as I said last week, you're going to have to depend on each other in the weeks following the closure of this case. Truthfully, the closer you are, the better off you'll be. And the better off you are, the better off your supervisor is, and as you know, it is ultimately all about me."

He chuckled, relaxing again, and studying him, she thought Juliet O'Hara was a remarkable woman to have tamed this remote, reserved creature—as a friend first, and now as the keeper of his heart. She didn't have to ask him how long he'd loved her, nor how long he would. She only hoped Juliet knew these things about him already and would be exceptionally careful with the treasure in her keeping.

After a while, they moved back inside and stood by the table, having an entirely false conversation for Hugo's benefit. Carlton thanked her for the coffee, and she patted his arm before she left, thinking it would be good to have him back at the station, and _fascinating_ to see how he'd handle being in a settled, loving relationship with the partner no one ever thought would last so long at his side.

**. . . .**

**. . .**

Juliet found it disconcertingly easy to 'come back' from shooting a man to more domesticated activities. She followed the plan to the letter, discarding the wig in the designated trash bin and the gun down the designated storm drain.

After a brisk four-block walk north, she caught a bus to take her to the grocery store close to Carlton's place.

Before she went inside, she called Berman from the secure phone. She wished she could call Carlton, but they'd agreed to keep up the charade that he'd need to relearn how to use his phone as a blind man, and not doing so at this time meant they could put off him having to talk to anyone unless she was there to handle the logistics—at least for Hugo's snoopy little mechanical ear.

"All done," she said when Berman picked up.

"And done perfectly," he answered. "We'll be in touch."

"So will I." Disconnect: the plan was for her to make contact later, as soon as she heard from Hugo as to his satisfaction with her completion of the task.

Then back to the mundane. Juliet shook her head somewhat wonderingly. This sort of high-stress double-life wasn't something she wanted again any time soon, but it was nice, professionally, to know she had done it well.

And of course, she thought as she collected a grocery cart and headed for the produce section, there was nothing mundane about being in love with Carlton, nor anything mundane about the man himself.

_Or his eyes. Or his heart. Or his_… she sighed.

_Yeah, girl. You're besotted._

It was scarier than having to shoot Damski… but a lot more satisfying.

Shopping complete, she called a cab to pick her up, and the closer they rattled toward the condo, the lighter she felt despite the over-laden bags surrounding her on the seat.

By the time she was in the hall outside his door, the bags might have been filled with cotton.

She set one bag down, fished out her key and unlocked the door.

"I'm home," she called out, seeing him already coming toward her, all blue-eyed lean intensity. "Got groceries and library audios and all."

"Hey," he said, his voice husky. "I missed you."

"I missed you too." Damn, she really had. "Hold out your hands and I'll give you two of these bags."

Together they carried her spoils into the kitchen, setting them on the counter, and Carlton pulled her close against his body and kissed her with a searing intensity which by rights should have left scorch marks on the floor below and ceiling above.

"Oh, God," she managed. "You _did_ miss me."

Carlton's hot mouth closed over hers again, his hands sliding up under her blouse, and just like that, Juliet had to have him.

"Here," she gasped, tugging at his jeans. "Take me here."

"No," he growled, pressing hard to her. "Groceries away. Then the bedroom."

Juliet pulled free and grabbed the bags, stuffing all of them into the fridge, cans and boxes and audiobooks and all, and Carlton started laughing and retrieving them again. "We don't need to chill the Cheerios," he whispered, too low for Hugo.

Impatiently, she helped sort the chaos, and yanked on his arm to tow him out into the main room and down the hall to the bedroom.

Door closed, she pushed him back toward the bed and started to take her shirt off, but Carlton caught her hands. "Slow down, sweetheart."

He put his arms around her and kissed her slowly now. Gently. Lovingly.

Juliet sank against him, loose and melty and so very warm.

"It went well?" he asked, the rumble of his voice pleasing to her ear, which he was nibbling.

"Mission accomplished." She shivered at the feel of his tongue tracing a path from her earlobe down her neck. "Please make love to me."

"I am," he assured her. "You're okay?"

"Yes. Please, Carlton."

He smiled, and unbuttoned her blouse slowly, his blue eyes lit with what she knew was love, because it made her weak in the knees as it filled her heart to bursting.

His fingers brushing against her skin brought her back to a more lustful plane, and that was very good too.

But he didn't pick up the pace, for all the ferocity of his kitchen kiss. He very slowly and deliberately undressed her, article by article, letting her clothes puddle on the floor around her, and then he kissed her, head to toe, kneeling before her as if she were a goddess for him to worship.

Juliet trembled with each kiss he bestowed upon her flesh; each touch of his tongue to her skin increased her desire for him, and by the time he rose and began to take off his clothes, she almost couldn't move for fear of falling into a heap.

Carlton lifted her unresisting body and deposited her on the bed—_their_ bed—and resumed his all-over kisses, leaving her gasping anew as little shocks of pleasure coursed through her.

She needed to touch him, and finally found the energy to lift her boneless arms, to pull him up to meet her, mouth to mouth, body to body. Stroking his back, his ass, his sides, his shoulders, she parted her legs underneath him and made him as welcome as she knew how.

His kiss intensified but she met him more than halfway, the building fire returning strength to her movements, until it was his blue eyes which opened wide with unspoken pleasure—as he realized she was claiming him as much as he was claiming her.

He may have been on top, but he was at her mercy—and she had all the mercy in the world for him. All the need, and all the desire to give him everything she had.

So along with the intimacy of her body owning his, she gave him the finest words she knew. "I love you, Carlton. I love you."

**. . . .**

**. . .**


	13. Chapter 13: Payment

**CHAPTER THIRTEEN: Payment**

**. . . . **

**. . .**

He couldn't understand what had happened to his life.

One day he was resigned to, if not exactly happy about, the simple truth that he was hopelessly in love with Juliet O'Hara, who would—quite sensibly—never see him as more than her friend and partner. It had been thus for years, and would be thus forever.

He wasn't the kind of man women stayed with. He wasn't the kind of man who got second chances.

Yet in spite of these heretofore infallible truths, she _was here with him_, now, the afternoon sun through the thin curtains bathing her in a gentle glow. Her smile was luminous, and even though their bodies continued the inexorable motions of lovemaking, there was a separate and distinct layer where the words she'd just said to him took on an energy all their own.

_I love you_.

"Oh my God," he whispered hoarsely, taking her the rest of the way, finishing them both off in a renewed frenzy, leaving her gasping for air just like he was.

After, Juliet would not let him leave her. Arms like a vise around his back; smooth strong legs like a vise around his thighs. "Stay," she pleaded. "Just like this."

Carlton kissed her lush mouth, meeting her tongue with his, pressing his full weight to her warm curves because she wanted him to, and he couldn't tell whose heartbeat thundered in his chest: his, hers or theirs.

"Juliet." He framed her face with trembling hands, sinking his fingers into her soft golden hair. "I love you too."

Nobody smiled like Juliet. Nobody else could light a room and the very darkest, coldest recesses of his heart like she could with a simple smile of happiness.

But her answer stunned him.

"Thank you."

He stared at her in utter wonder. "What? What for?"

She shifted a little underneath him, which caused aftershocks of pleasure to ripple through his system, and she knew it, for she nearly purred.

"To be loved by a man like you is a gift," she said simply, stroking his back.

Carlton found this perplexing. "_Why_?"

Juliet laughed and lifted her head to kiss him, a lingering and meaningful kiss full of promise. "Because you don't love easily, or trust easily. To be the one you let in… that's something I cherish."

"But Juliet… who the hell wouldn't let _you_ in? Even _without_ a gun in your hand?"

Laughing, she finally urged him off of her, but not far, and then promptly climbed on top of him, kissing his chest and shoulders and finally his mouth, so much fire still between them that quite a while passed before she could speak again.

"Carlton." Her breathless voice was gentle. "I know this is real. Do you?"

His hands on her back, holding her warm and naked body firm against his, he searched the light in her dark blue eyes, and felt this moment was perhaps the most perfect of all.

His heart was calm, his pulse was steady, and his soul was certain.

"Yes."

With another brilliant smile, Juliet kissed him again… and again, and again, until he was drawn back into deep arousal and need which knew no other outlet than to be joined with her completely.

**. . . .**

**. . .**

They lay back on the chaise lounge together, watching the light in the sky change slowly from post-sunset to real night. Carlton had snagged the blue velvet throw to cover them as the day got cooler.

With the patio door closed between them and Hugo's ear, she told him quietly about her work that afternoon and even about Henry Spencer's little chat with her at the bar.

After a suitable amount of classic Carlton scowling, and with obvious reluctance, he told her about Shawn's visit to Karen Vick.

"Asshat," she said crossly, and Carlton relaxed enough to laugh; she thumped his chest. "You don't usually laugh about his antics."

"I'm exceptionally mellow right now," he admitted. "Yeah, he was an asshat. At least she didn't buy that load of crap."

"Of course she didn't. But he's still an asshat, making it sound like I have no will of my own."

"That's his pride talking. No man would feel right about losing you."

"No man will ever lose me again," she retorted, "because _you_ sure won't, and there's never going to be anyone else."

Carlton's large blue eyes took on that surprised, pleased look she loved, and he tightened his arm around her. "Big talker."

"Nuh-uh," she challenged.

He laughed. "Now you sound like Spencer."

"Low blow, potato head. Don't you compare me to him in any way."

"Except to establish your natural superiority?" he suggested as she trailed kisses along his jaw; she did _so_ love the taste of his skin.

"That's more like it." His throat tasted good too, she thought, moving her lips in that direction.

"I'm just saying," he managed despite her fingertips sliding along his skin, "that when we get back to work again and I'm up against my first case with insufficient coffee, you might not feel so kindly disposed toward my temper, and you—"

She silenced him by placing her hand firmly over his crotch. "Hush."

Swallowing, he agreed as how he might be willing to hush, and turned to claim a kiss.

They were engaged in this pleasant activity, her hand moving ever so slightly now and then (as she wondered why they'd dressed at all), when her cell rang.

She knew it would be Hugo. Carlton reached over to the patio table and picked it up, handing it to her without a word, because he knew too.

"Hello?"

Ever smooth, Hugo said, "Well done, Juliet. I'm quite pleased with you."

"You have no idea how much I'm moved by that," she said coolly.

"Excellent. Where is your loving companion?"

"Where is my remuneration?"

He tsked disapprovingly. "First things first. I need to know you can talk freely."

"He's in the shower."

"Alone?" He sounded both surprised and… _needling_.

"He can manage. Haven't you ever had to take a shower in the dark during a power outage?"

"Hmm. I wonder why he'd need a shower at this time of the evening, but then again, I suppose I already know. Nonstop sex can be dirty, _dirty_ work."

_Remember, you don't know you're being bugged_. Her annoyance, however, was real. "Would you stop being an ass so we can get on with this?"

His laughter was low and knowing and she really, really didn't like him. Carlton was watching her, and she knew he could see her irritation. He stroked her hip and lower back soothingly, and she managed a smile for him.

"For you, dear Juliet, since you have made my employer a happy man and thus improved _my_ life as a byproduct, I will do my best. Write these numbers down."

She rose from the lounge with Carlton's help, going inside to get a pen and paper.

Carlton followed, his hand returning to caress her back while she wrote down the bank name, account number and password Hugo read out.

"If I access this account before he gets out of the shower, will I find the full payment?"

"Yes. You have no reason to doubt." He was cold.

"With _you_? Seriously?"

"Don't insult me. I would no sooner cross my employer than you would abandon your blind lover. You'll find the full amount. Remember, it's under Juliet Lassiter." He paused. "You'd best marry him quickly. With as much sex as you've had lately, you're quite likely to produce an illegitimate child before too long."

She'd had enough, and this particular gig was up. "You seem obsessed with my love life," she snapped. "Not getting any of your own?"

Hugo shot back, "I don't need any, not with what I glean from what's going on with you and your partner."

Allowing a pause—as if she were calculating his true meaning—she said hotly, "You've been eavesdropping, haven't you? When you were here the other day, you—you bastard!"

Carlton immediately got out of the way, obviously enjoying the performance she put on stalking over to the door.

"There there," Hugo soothed her. "Don't worry. I _am_ old enough to listen to porn."

"You came in about ten feet," she muttered, "and stood by the table. I remember you looking around like you owned the place—there!" She crouched down and ripped the device out from under the table. "There you are, you son of a bitch; let _this_ be the last sound you hear!"

Disconnecting, she carried the bug to the kitchen. Using Carlton's meat tenderizer with enough force to make her hand ache later, she beat the crap out of the thing on the large wooden cutting board. Bits of metal flew everywhere, and each one represented a reason she despised Hugo.

Carlton stifled his laughter, just in case, until they were both dead sure she'd completely obliterated the bug. Silently, he handed her the mini-vac and let her suck up the debris with grim satisfaction.

"Finished?" he inquired mildly.

"Check again to make sure the slimy bastard didn't plant more than one." She knew he hadn't; his visit had been too short and his movements too limited, but better safe than freaking sorry.

While he was doing that, she emptied the vacuum canister into the trash bin and pulled out the plastic bag, sealing it up with a vengeance she'd never before shown to kitchen refuse. She just wished she had easy access to an incinerator.

Carlton returned and leaned against the door jamb, his arms folded, blue eyes failing to conceal great amusement. "It's not Christine, you know. It's not going to rebuild itself during the night and come after us."

"You can't be sure." She was only half-kidding.

"And, ah, you do realize you just pulverized evidence for a federal investigation?"

"It was necessary to preserve our cover," she said with asperity. "Anyway, we sent photos to Berman, and if they find the recordings, that'll be enough proof."

Now he looked a bit uncomfortable. "If they find the recordings, it'll also… prove something more… personal to both of us."

Juliet relented, joining him in the doorway and resting her head against his chest as his arms encircled her. "We were _acting_ the part. That'll always be our story."

They'd only… engaged… within clear earshot of the bug that one time on the sofa, and even so, had been as quiet as possible.

Kissing the top of her head and not arguing, Carlton urged her to notify Berman about the money transfer. "The room's clear. Let's check the account before you call it in."

He sat at the desk and fired up the laptop, quickly going to the designated bank page to log in.

Because they simply couldn't trust Hugo fully, he double-checked to make sure there were no other authorized users permitted to access the account. "$375,000," he remarked. "Price of a life."

Yeah, something Sage Damski could be proud of: knowing his 'worth.' They had watched the evening news to see coverage of the public shooting of the known criminal, complete with editorial speculation as to who the shooter might be, and for which of his offenses Damski had been cut down.

"Just change the password," she urged. "I'd like to go back to _not_ pretending I'm a cold-blooded killer."

"Nothing cold-blooded about you, O'Hara. That was why Hugo wanted you for the job, remember? He knew you'd never be motivated by greed."

"Only love." She smiled and leaned in to kiss his temple, loving the contented sigh she earned. "Change the password to Hugo Nardi Sucks Squirrel Balls 2013, and I'll call Berman."

He had trouble typing correctly while laughing, but it was done.

Telling Berman the password elicited a chuckle from him as well. "Thank you, Detective. We will verify this transfer ourselves, freeze the account, and move in to collect Mr. Nardi, Mr. DiMera and as many of their felonious friends as we can stuff in the van."

She confessed the destruction of the eavesdropping device, ignoring Carlton's smirk.

Berman took it in stride. "As you said, it helped maintain cover. Lie low, and we'll let you know when it's over."

Juliet put the phone down and slid into Carlton's lap, where he still sat by the computer. "We're done. Let's go back to bed."

"Hmm. That was easy."

"_I'm_ easy," she countered, wiggling deliberately.

"You're just turned on by smashing things," he suggested, squeezing her.

"Well, you do have a pretty sexy tenderizer." She nipped at his earlobe, and he stopped resisting.

But instead of leading her to the bedroom, he guided her to the dining area, and in irreverent homage to Hugo Nardi, stripped her bare and took her right there on the table from underneath which she'd so recently yanked the offending bug.

She was sorry the vase got knocked to the floor in the process, but everything else was A-OK with her.

**. . . .**

**. . .**

Carlton scooped Juliet closer to him under the cool sheets. It was past eleven and they were exhausted, freshly showered but exhausted.

Still she felt his ongoing desire, and it matched hers.

"You're insatiable." But this was not a complaint. Attempting to sate this lean, luscious man was the most utterly bliss-making challenge of her life.

"_You_ are," he challenged. "And anyway, I _need_ more exercise. I haven't been able to go for a run in over a week and my muscles might atrophy if I don't make love to you as often as possible."

Juliet laughed, undulating against him. "You'll get your routine back soon. Once they round up DiMera's crew, we get to come out of hiding."

"We'll need to talk about that," Carlton said with a gentle squeeze. "About how to handle everyone's reactions, like the Chief warned."

"There'll be mandatory psych evals."

"You say that like it's a good thing. They'll ask about…" He hesitated. "They'll ask about us. Our partnership. The nature of our relationship during the assignment. Especially if Spencer went further than venting to Vick."

Juliet felt uneasy. "But we'd have to deal with speculation anyway, even without Shawn interfering. The whole premise was to present a close relationship between us which would lead me to commit murder to help you."

Carlton frowned, and she smoothed the line on his forehead until he smiled at her again. "You're going to be relentlessly optimistic every damned day, aren't you?"

"Every day I have your love," she whispered, "is a day I've got every reason to be optimistic."

His eyes said so much, and it all translated to love. "I think we can work something out." He reached up to turn out the lamp, settling back against her warmly.

But from the living room, the unmistakable trilling of her cell broke their peace.

"That can't be good," he said, his frown back.

She was instantly uneasy again, getting out of bed quickly and hurrying out to find the phone. Berman's name was on the screen. No, that _wouldn't_ be good.

"What is it?" she asked, knowing something was terribly wrong.

"Uh… half-success, half epic fail." He cleared his throat. "We got DiMera and most of his people but Nardi somehow gave us the slip."

"What?" It came out in a screech.

"I know. I'm sorry. Bastard's just too good. We think he had a way out DiMera didn't know about, and it's just like him, too."

"But you had floor plans, right? Building schematics? How could you not know—" She stopped, steadying herself. This man was a professional, hardly careless about his work. "Sorry."

"Believe me, I feel your frustration." He let out a heavy sigh. "We're processing everyone and I don't expect it'll be too long before DiMera rolls on Nardi. Maybe we'll get some insight on where he'd take off to."

"And in the meantime?"

"Lie low," he said as firmly as he had earlier. "He's a smart guy and he knows we'll be watching for him to go anywhere near you, so my money's on him using a fake passport to leave the country, like, three hours ago. But be careful."

"And keep cover?"

"Well, he's gotta know you're the reason he's on the run, but we're not releasing any of this to the press, so yeah, keep cover for a day or two more. We need to get a fix on where he could be, and you need to stay inaccessible just in case."

"Okay."

"And, uh, your partner… he's got a weapon there, right?"

Juliet stilled herself. "Yes."

"Keep it handy, Detective. Keep it very handy. I'll be in touch."

**. . . .**

**. . .**

Carlton, even if he hadn't clearly heard Juliet's side of the conversation, would have known what was up by the set of her shoulders alone. His instincts were as sharp as ever, and he knew her as a cop as well as he now knew her as a lover.

When she disconnected and turned around, she faltered a moment before crossing to where he stood in the doorway. "Hugo gave them the slip."

"I gathered. Any ideas where he'd go?"

"Berman thinks he'll leave the country, but we can't be sure." She looked out toward the patio, lit by moonlight. "Dammit."

He touched her shoulder, and she leaned against him. "Everything else go well?"

"He said so. Carlton?"

"Yes?"

"I think you'd better tell me where your guns are stashed."

"Yeah," he said, this return to reality all too unwelcome. "Come on."

**. . . .**

**. . .**


	14. Chapter 14: Payback

**CHAPTER FOURTEEN: Payback**

**. . . .**

**. . .**

Juliet was cutting up chicken to sauté with onions and mushrooms, and Carlton watched her from the sink, where he was peeling potatoes.

There was something… something unbearably sweet… about the simple domesticity of this scene. She was humming, relaxed, and _his_.

The whole assignment, on top of their set-to about his post-Dozier hospital stay, had been nothing but surreal, and yet it was so _very_ real. The idea that they were coming out of it as a couple was magical and head-shakingly puzzling to him.

For the past day he had been resolutely not thinking about the one thing he most wanted to dwell on, and it was only two words. He'd seen them on the computer screen, he'd understood instinctively that she was expecting them but hadn't warned him, and he wasn't even surprised that she didn't mention them afterward.

They'd been keeping to the condo, per Berman's instructions. They had no intention of making it easy for Hugo Nardi, if he was even still in the country, to exact revenge.

Karen Vick was in touch, along with Berman. The FBI had released no information about Jacky DiMera's capture, let alone Hugo's escape, and the press was still a-flutter about Damski's apparent assassination. Berman assured them Damski was well-hidden and would remain so for the duration. They all knew _Hugo_ was aware of the deception, but absolutely no good would come from involving the press.

So he and Juliet had continued quiet explorations of each other, of their hearts and souls and bodies. Karen had sent over some case files in anticipation of their eventual return to duty—homework, she called it—and when they weren't lying together in complete awe of each other, they did background checks and other low-level tasks and didn't mind, because they were together.

Those two words, however.

They were burned in his head. At some moments, they obscured his vision about everything else.

_Juliet Lassiter._

Carlton's knife slipped and cut his thumb; with a hiss of pain he dropped the potato and stuck his hand under the cold running water.

Juliet came to his side at once, fussing over him, finding a towel and a bandage. The cut wasn't deep but it stung, and while she wrapped his thumb he watched her with half-closed eyes, feeling… hell, feeling _everything_.

It was just one of Hugo's mind games. He was trying to manipulate Juliet and that's why she hadn't told him, because she knew the trick for what it was and saw no need to cloud Carlton's judgment with the distraction of such a concept.

But.

_Juliet Lassiter._

_My... wife._

Although it was unlike him to trust, he knew she loved him, and he knew she had no intention of walking away from what they had discovered. Still, they were in the middle of a case. He _could_ _not_ do or say _anything_ to make her think he was testing her, not now, not with Hugo still on the loose.

The timing was all wrong, dammit.

God only knew how long the timing would _remain_ as wrong as it was right now.

Maybe forever; she was way too smart to saddle herself with a cranky old horse like him.

It was hopeless, really. Son-of-a-bitchingly hopeless.

"I love you," he said huskily. "Please marry me."

_Ah, HELL, Einstein!_ Like _that_ was gonna work.

Juliet looked up, lovely blue eyes wide, bandage half-stuck. "Carlton," she breathed.

He was instantly terrified, stepping back, finishing the bandage himself, and still she stood staring at him. "You don't have to answer now." His voice sounded thick. Stupid.

Her mouth was still open. "Is it all right if I do?"

"Not if it'll kill me," and why was it so hard to breathe?

"Yes," she said, coming close. "Yes, of course I'll marry you. Carlton, I _love_—"

Enough talk—he stopped her with a kiss, his heart doing that increasingly familiar jackhammery thing, and Juliet laughed and cried and kissed him back and dinner was going to be delayed a little, while they stared at each other in amazement and held each other and kissed some more, and he felt like the happiest idiot in the universe and she just glowed up at him. She _glowed_.

"I have been happier with you in the past week than I have been in my entire life," she whispered, letting him rock her against his chest. "You, Carlton."

_Me. _

_How?_

He cleared his throat, composing himself. "Even now that you've seen my horribly disfigured thumb?"

She nodded, smiling.

"And despite my crooked nose and big ears and tendency to be mean to McNab and anyone who smiles at me too early in the day?"

She nodded again, more amused. "Buzz loves you too."

"Too bad. I'm taken."

"So is he, but you know what I mean. Buzz wants to be just like you when he grows up."

"God forbid," Carlton muttered. "Juliet, sweetheart, are you sure you're not glossing over all my flaws? Because I have more than a few."

"Oh honey, I know." She kissed his cheek and disentangled herself from his arms, resuming her chicken chopping with a bit of a smirk. "You once made me sit on a towel in your newly-repaired car."

_Crap. Damn her memory, along with my asshattedness._

He offered, "I was… misguided."

"You threw up in my hair when you were seasick."

"Oh, God, O'Hara, _really_? I needed _that_ flashback?"

"You accused me of having 'daddy issues' when we had that shark case."

He was agape with horror.

"And Lordy, how many times you told me to 'shut it,'" she went on cheerfully.

Carlton thudded his head against the cabinet. "I am the. Worst. Partner. Ever."

"You used to delegate all the boring paperwork to me, usually when you knew I wanted to leave work on time so I could meet a date."

"Well, duh," he retorted, rubbing his now-sore forehead. "I was jealous."

Juliet eyed him. "And?"

He swallowed. "And it was nice to know you would do it simply because I asked. But you put a stop to that after awhile."

"Yes, I did," she said with satisfaction. "And let's not forget the time you admitted to running a background check on Scott Seaver not for the case but simply to establish his suitability for me, and by the way, I'm _not_ going to bring up the whole polygraphing-me-over-Shawn business."

"Crap on a soggy saltine," he said, entirely miserable now.

"Oh, and you were incredibly catty when I was dating Cameron Luntz! Then there was the—"

"Juliet, for the love of Lady Justice! You're only proving my point—there's no way you can marry me. None." Good Lord, what the hell had he been thinking?

She laughed delightedly. "Yes, I can. You can't take it back now, and anyway, I'm proving _my_ point, not yours, which is that I love you despite all of that. I love you for who you are, and how we are together. I love your wicked sense of humor and your ability to focus on a case and your absolute refusal to treat me like a hothouse flower." She gave him a cheeky grin. "Those beautiful eyes don't hurt, either, and that was before I knew you were a hell of a kisser and the best lover any woman could want. I think I'm safe in trusting my own judgment on this."

He stared at her in wonder—another perpetual state these days. "Oh. Then..."

Juliet chopped the last of the chicken with fierce enthusiasm. "You're marrying me, bucko, so man up and git 'er done."

Carlton didn't know whether to laugh or melt at her feet. He settled for swooping in to kiss the hell out of her, satisfied he'd made the correct choice by the shuddery sigh she let out when he released her to return to his potatoes.

**. . . .**

**. . .**

Wednesday morning Carlton was restless. He wanted to go for a run. He wanted to Get On With Things.

Juliet couldn't blame him—especially since one of the things he wanted to get on with was marrying her—but she also couldn't allow him to so much as go up to the roof and jog in place. They had to stay put.

He wasn't good at staying put, and now that the meat of the case had been served to the Feds, he was ready to go out and start hunting down Hugo just to be done with it.

Therefore, she was forced to seduce him, once as he kvetched in bed before they got up, and then again in the shower.

Forced wasn't the right word, and he certainly didn't object, and both of them were certainly more mellow afterwards. There was a lot of water on the floor and the shower curtain was hanging half off the rod, but it was nothing they couldn't fix up together.

_I love this man_, she mused, toying with the damp curling hair at the back of his neck. _I think I have always loved him on some level._

They were at the dining room table, side by side, finishing breakfast and sipping coffee. He was smiling at her, blue eyes guileless, completely relaxed despite a shiver when her fingertips skimmed his skin.

"Better?" she prompted.

"Than a five-mile run at five a.m.?" He pretended to think about it.

Juliet tugged on a curl of his hair, and he winced. "Answer faster."

Her cell rang, and Carlton smirked. "I'll ponder the question while you get that."

She tugged again, and he kissed her temple to soothe her.

The number was unfamiliar, and her senses started prickling. "Hello?"

"Juliet," he said in a long-drawn-out sigh. "So good to hear your voice."

Sitting up, she motioned to Carlton to lean in and listen.

"Not so good to hear yours, Hugo."

His chuckle was mirthless. "Maybe you'd prefer _this_ voice."

There was a muffled sound of some sort, and then a shock: "Juliet? Juliet, I don't know where I am but please help me because I think this guy's gonna kill me!"

Just as quickly, he was silenced.

She was horrified and sick and Carlton's eyes were a tense dark blue.

"Your friend Burton Guster," Hugo explained needlessly, "is entirely at my mercy. Don't you think you'd best come see to him?"

_Think. Think._

"There's no need to hurt him," she said flatly. "What do you want?"

"Hurt him? Oh, I hope not to _hurt_ him, Juliet. At least not more than... once or twice."

_You slimy bastard._ "Just tell me what you want."

"You know what I want. I want to... speak with you. In person. You come to me, I let him go. Most likely, although perhaps not immediately. You and I need to... _talk_ first."

Carlton was gripping her arm, shaking his head.

But Juliet had no choice, did she? And Hugo knew it. "Where?"

Carlton let go of her, frustrated but silent.

"Take Las Canoas Road north of Sheffield Reservoir. Come alone, and call me when you get to Tierra Cielo Lane. Only don't bother calling past 9:30, because Mr. Guster will no longer be available after that." He disconnected.

Juliet was on her feet at once, aiming for the bedroom to get dressed. Hugo had only given her twenty minutes.

"Stop," Carlton demanded, blocking her path. "Listen. You can't do this. He's drawing you out."

"I know he is. He can't come here, and if I leave he knows they'll be watching. But if I don't go, he'll kill Gus. Please, Carlton."

He shoved his hands through his hair. "Call Berman and see what he says."

It wasn't like him to defer to someone else to make a decision; it was hard enough when he was forced to get Karen Vick's okay.

But the stakes were high here: Gus' life, as well as hers.

He added, thinking like a cop instead of her lover, "Take my car. If anyone tries to stop you for speeding, go faster."

She made the call, hurrying into the bedroom to find jeans and shoes and yeah, a bra and shirt. Quickly explaining to the agent what was going on—and understanding Hugo's short time frame was intended to make it more difficult for the FBI to intervene—she ended by telling him she was going.

"We'll be on your tail," he said grimly.

"You can't be seen. He'll be looking."

"I know, but trust me, Detective, we want him just as much as he wants you."

"I'm taking Carlton's Fusion. I should be out of here in three minutes."

She hung up and turned to see Carlton watching her. He looked unsettled, and he looked uneasy, but mainly he looked like he wasn't going to stand in a fellow officer's way.

"Call me every ten minutes," he said.

"I will. I love you." She leaned up to kiss him briefly, and finished dressing for her date with a potential killer.

**. . . .**

**. . .**

After she left, Carlton paced the condo, the very epitome of a caged tiger but helpless to settle himself down.

Why Guster? Why not Spencer? Because Gus was easier to subdue and take?

For about ten seconds he considered the ramifications of telling Spencer what was going on. For two full minutes after that, he berated himself for being an idiot: Spencer's involvement would make everything worse. Yes, the asshat had gotten himself and Guster out of a lot of trouble over the years but just about all of it was trouble he'd gotten them _into_ in the first place. This case was already complicated and volatile, and Juliet didn't need Spencer's brand of 'assistance.'

He reminded himself that at this hour, Spencer was probably still fast asleep. He wouldn't expect to have contact with Guster until closer to noon and by then... Carlton tensed.

By then, they'd know.

This was no good. Hugo was taking a hell of a big chance in the name of revenge, and built into it was a decision that he wanted revenge more than escape, which made him far more dangerous than they'd counted on.

He'd told Juliet where to find the Kevlar in his trunk, and she had one of his weapons tucked in the back of her jeans and another in his glove compartment. He knew Berman and Fuller would keep a close eye on her, but of necessity it couldn't be too close, or they'd blow it, and Juliet and Guster would be dead quicker than—

He put his head in his hands, cutting off the thought.

_I just got her. Don't take her from me now._

_Stop it. She's trained, and she's ready. Hugo doesn't know what he's up against_.

Juliet called a few minutes later, and he snatched at the phone.

"Hey," she said, and he heard road noises around her. "I'm almost to Tierra Cielo. It's quiet up here."

"Eyes open. Back of the head, too," he warned.

"I learned from the best," she reminded him.

He hoped he _was _the best, if she'd learned anything from him. He told her he loved her, and she sighed the words back to him.

**. . . .**

**. . .**

It was dusty. Lots of trees and scrubby brush around the few homes up here. There was money, but it was low-key.

Juliet stopped at the intersection of Tierra Cielo and Las Canoas and hit redial on the call from Hugo.

He answered at once. "Good girl; two minutes to spare. Mr. Guster appreciates your promptness. Drive on to where Las Canoas splits off into El Cielito and pull over. From there, you'll walk four hundred feet around the curve toward Skofield Park. Call me when you reach the prickly pear directly across the road from the '15 miles per hour' warning sign." Click.

Juliet took a deep breath.

She drove slowly, calling in the info to Berman and then calling Carlton, knowing she might not be able to contact either one of them again for fear of Hugo seeing.

Carlton's concern infused his every brief word, and she sent up a silent prayer that she would be with him again soon. She also prayed he'd forgive her for not wearing the Kevlar. It was too bulky under her shirt and Hugo would spot it before she got within fifty feet.

Would he kill her outright?

No. That much she knew. It was his nature to toy with people; it's what he'd done with her from the start. Mind twists. Psyche-needling.

Would he kill Gus outright?

There was no answer to her liking. Gus was of no use to Hugo other than as a tool to lure her to meet him; it was that simple. Further, since Hugo was fully aware the Feds weren't going to quit looking for him, an additional murder meant nothing of consequence. He probably already had so many friends in prison that even incarceration itself was of no consequence.

DiMera's people were paper-pushers. Money-launderers. What happened to make Hugo willing to kill?

Juliet sighed. He didn't like to be crossed. Probably he hadn't been crossed in a long damn time. And just because they _thought_ he hadn't killed before didn't mean they were right.

She brought the Fusion to a quiet stop at the three-way intersection, and as directed, pulled over into the gravel beneath more scrubby trees and then got out to walk.

The road along the wooded park was high and narrow, with no shoulder to speak of. It was pleasant, blue-sky sunny and warm, hardly a day to die, and she really didn't want to die because she had hoped to spend at least fifty years with Carlton.

_Never mind the daydreams, O'Hara. Getting to Gus and stopping this madman is your job. Your duty. _

The prickly pear was halfway up a bank, and the road sign was directly across the narrow lane. But this time, when she called Hugo, he let it ring three times.

"So sorry to keep you waiting," he drawled. "I was preoccupied with Mr. Guster's needs."

She could barely make out muffled sounds of distress, and could not allow herself to dwell on them. "I'm here. Where are you?"

"I'm making sure you weren't followed. I'll call soon. Stay where you are."

_Dammit. _

She sat in the shade near the prickly pear and waited.

**. . . .**

**. . .**

The knock came at 9:45. Carlton froze, wondering who the hell was interrupting him going slowly insane.

Other than Juliet, he couldn't imagine anyone he'd willingly open up for with the possible exception of Karen Vick, because if he didn't answer she'd know instantly something was wrong. She'd either call out the dogs to rescue her head detective, or, just as likely, she'd simply karate-kick the door down, and he wasn't at all sure she wasn't fully capable of doing just that.

But she would have phoned first, or texted.

Moving quietly to the door, he looked through the peephole.

His body temperature dropped ten degrees when he recognized Hugo. The man had on a ball cap and a fairly good fake mustache, but it was unmistakably Hugo Nardi—and that meant all kinds of probably very bad things.

Standing close to the door, Hugo spoke in a low voice. "Mr. Lassiter, I know you're in there, and I know you recognize my voice. I hope you also know that if you don't let me in within the next three seconds, I _will_ start shooting. First through your door, and then at every single person who comes running down this hall to investigate until I have disposed of as many people as necessary to get you to allow me to enter."

_The public comes first._

_And... and he still thinks I'm blind._

Carlton grabbed his sunglasses off the table but left the gun where it was hidden. Hugo would search him anyway; best to have an out he _might_ be able to get to later.

He opened the door.

**. . . .**

**. . .**


	15. Chapter 15: Hugo

**CHAPTER FIFTEEN: Hugo**

**. . . .**

**. . . **

It took more self-control than he knew he possessed not to lash out when Hugo started pushing him.

_You're supposed to be blind. Act blind._

"We're just going to have a seat, former Detective," Hugo said, forcing him into one of the dining room chairs.

Carlton bit out, "What the hell do you want?"

He pressed the tip of the gun to his chest. "You feel this, right? You know what the business end of a handgun feels like, right?" He shoved it hard against Carlton's sternum. "Sit still."

_Look at his chin, not his eyes, and pray he doesn't rip these glasses off._

Hugo pulled a pair of handcuffs out of his pocket and reached around to cuff Carlton's wrists, looping the metal through the slats to ensure he was cuffed to the chair as well. Then he pushed the chair away from the table, up against the back of the sofa.

"Obviously I can no longer delude myself that your ladylove kept our arrangement private."

Carlton sneered. (Even a blind man could sneer.) "She wouldn't keep something like that from me."

He laughed, standing a few feet away and looking around the room. "She's an unusual woman, then. In my experience, women are very good at lying."

_So are men like you._

"Where is she?" He tested the strength of the cuffs, _because you never know_.

"Until I call her in a few minutes, she'll be waiting by a prickly pear. I hope she has the sense to sit in the shade. Amazing how fast the sun can get to you." He went strolling down the hallway, humming.

Carlton called out, "She's going to call me as soon as you call her, and if I don't answer, she'll know something's wrong."

He could hear Hugo's laughter down by the bathroom, and then his voice getting closer. "Oh, you'll answer, and you'll tell her everything's fine."

"It's not in my nature to be helpful to lowlife scum like you." Carlton jerked at the cuffs when Hugo was even with him, and to his great satisfaction, Hugo did back up a bit in surprise.

But he sounded icy calm when he spoke. "Is it in your nature to let your lover hear me blow your brains out the second you say anything to warn her?"

A chill feathered over him.

Hugo leaned in, close enough for Carlton to feel his breath. "Do you really want her to come home and find you covered in the blood she will _never_ be able to wash off her hands?"

He let out a hiss, wishing very much for Hugo to be dead and gone. He wished he had the strength to break steel and then wrap what was left of it around Hugo's neck. He wished.

More low laughter from the beast. He went to the opposite end of the table and sat down, getting out his phone.

Carlton kept his head angled so that he appeared to be staring at Hugo's shoulder, but his gaze was fixed on the man who now snapped into the cell, "I saw your FBI friends following you. It appears you care nothing for the health and safety of your little friend Gus."

Juliet must have protested. Pleaded. Hugo smiled.

Carlton hated him.

"I'll contact you in eight hours. Maybe you'll have the sense to come alone this time." He disconnected, slipping the phone back into his pocket. "Now she'll call the FBI, and then she'll call you. What will you tell her?"

The words were acid. "That I'm fine. Did you already kill Guster?"

"Good Lord, why would I do that?"

_Because you're a murderous sociopath?_

"Then where is he?"

"Safe. Not… exactly… unharmed, but safe and alive. He does whimper a bit." Hugo took off his hat and peeled off the mustache. "You know, I did consider the rather delicious situation of having Juliet go off to rescue her ex-boyfriend while her new boyfriend paced in his own dark hell. It was really very tempting."

From what Juliet had told him about Hugo's mind games, he could just imagine. And Hugo would have been right: while Carlton would have put Spencer's safety first because it was his job to do so, on a personal level he would have feared the possible other layers of Juliet's concern for the gelhead.

"I'm surprised you passed it up."

"Well, let's just say that after seeing Spencer on TV numerous times, I couldn't help but remember how it worked out for the kidnappers in 'The Ransom Of Red Chief.' Most likely I'd have turned myself in after less than an hour of Spencer's incessant yammering."

Carlton muttered, "I hear that."

"Ah, so we have common ground. Let's build from there, shall we?"

"Let's not. What are you going to do when Juliet gets back?" Because that was the big question. If he trusted Hugo as to Guster's well-being, then the real issue was what his plans were for Juliet's return.

Before Hugo could answer, the landline rang. "And there is your lady. Allow me." He collected the cordless from the coffee table and came to stand at Carlton's side. "Remember what I said, and do not doubt me."

Pressing the talk button, he put the phone to Carlton's ear, and the gun to his throat.

"Carlton," Juliet said breathlessly, "he didn't show. He called to say he spotted Berman's men."

"Now what?" That sounded normal, didn't it?

"He said he'd call again in eight hours. Berman said they'd search the area for Gus but I'm coming back now."

"Okay." He couldn't add 'good.'

"You all right?" Her tone was falsely bright. "Pulse under control? Flooring not worn through to the concrete?"

Pause. "I'm holding up."

Hugo moved the gun a bit, pressing inward.

"Okay, well…" She took a breath. "I'm in the car. I'll be home soon. I love you. I felt like you were with me."

His heart twisted. "Drive safe, O'Hara."

Juliet paused. "I will. See you in a bit."

She hung up, and Carlton, dry-mouthed, nodded. Hugo disconnected from their end and tossed the phone over the back of the sofa, then leaned against it next to Carlton. Too close.

Too evil.

"Nicely done. Not as affectionate as I might have hoped, but she'll pass it off as anxiety. You're not a completely well man, after all."

"Neither are you. Now tell me what the hell your plans are."

Hugo smacked the back of his head, making him jerk away, but then he _tsk_ed. "See what you made me do? I'm not at all a violent person, you know. I deal with papers and numbers and impossibly large amounts of money."

"Then what did you do with Guster?"

"I told you. He's safe. I had to get his attention, but he'll be fine. In fact," and he glanced at his watch, "in the morning the lock on his… cage will automatically release, and he can walk out. By then, you realize, I'll be long out of the country. And by the time the FBI realizes they've not heard from your Juliet about my next phone call and come to check on you, your bodies will be well into rigor mortis."

_Son of a bitch._

He kept silent.

Hugo prodded him with the gun. "No comeback? Cheer up. You won't have to see her die."

He kept silent.

"You are stalwart, I'll give you that."

"If you're going to kill us, there's no need for the madman's soliloquy," Carlton said flatly. He already knew everything he needed to know about Hugo Nardi.

"But it's so much fun. And let me qualify what I just said: you won't have to see her die, but you will _hear_ it. That's if you can concentrate on anything other than your own pain. Would you like to know why you will have to hear her die?"

"Because you're a sadistic bastard?"

_Don't think about it. Don't think about it. Think about how to get _out_ of this._

He was amused. "Yes. Yes, I am. Here's what I have in mind. When she joins our small party, I'm going to have a word with her about betrayal, and how very much it pisses me the hell off. Then I'm going to strap her to one of these chairs and make her watch as I break your bones into as many pieces as I can with well-placed kicks of the shiny steel-toed boots I have on right now. Wish you could see them," he mused. "They're quite snazzy."

Bile. Nothing but bile.

"When she has seen the damage; when she has understood that you will be left in a far worse state than mere blindness and it is _entirely_ her fault, she won't even beg me not to kill her. It'd be nice if she did, but she won't. I'll do it quickly. It'll be enough for me to know her last moments were of pure helpless torment and guilt."

Carlton's blood was roaring.

Hugo sighed. "Then, because there would really be no use in torturing you further, I'll put a bullet in your head and make my departure." He stepped away from the sofa, adding briskly, "The whole thing should take less than ten minutes."

**. . . .**

**. . .**

Juliet felt more nervous driving back to Carlton's than she had on the way out.

She was worried about Gus, she knew she absolutely could not trust Hugo, and her mind was racing from one game theory to another as to what he might really be doing.

_Did we even _call_ Gus?_

Hell. She slowed the car enough to get her phone and punch up Gus' number.

Rings. Voicemail. Dammit.

Call Shawn?

_No. He would make it worse._

_He could be useful, O'Hara._

No. He would make it worse. His own fears about Gus would make him a liability.

_He got Gus out of the bank holdup a few years ago._

_Yes, but he did it at great personal risk to himself and endangered the lives of the other customers in the process—in his arrogance that only he could get the job done_.

Plus, he'd have to be brought up to speed and there was too much… just too _much_ for him to understand and absorb if he was going to be expected to help get a line on Gus' whereabouts.

Besides, Hugo Nardi was a practiced criminal and Shawn knew nothing about him.

_But he's psychic._

"The hell he is," Juliet snapped aloud, shocking herself.

She let out a breath and kept driving. _Just go home and hold on to Carlton._

Their conversation replayed in her mind. He sounded worried, and tense. He hadn't wanted her to go in the first place.

He hadn't said he loved her.

_Oh, stop it. This is a high-stress situation and you are not a high-school girl._

But… he hadn't been shy about those words in the past few days.

Why did this feel wrong?

_He called you 'O'Hara.' He's only done that this week when he's annoyed, or pretending to be annoyed._

_And he didn't soothe you or say you'd done a good job._

This felt wrong.

She sped up.

**. . . .**

**. . .**

Hugo wandered around, picking up whatever interested him and making editorial comments about the soulless life of a career cop. "Even your reading material—military history, profiling, strategy, police case studies—you need more color here. This whole apartment is just so… lifeless."

Funny, he thought it had been bursting with life the past week.

Carlton inventoried the items closest to him, as well as his situation. He could stand, but he wouldn't get very far dragging the chair with him. He could lure Hugo close and then head-butt him. He could pretend to have a seizure and… what? Flail around until he fell over? Brilliant.

Hugo's back was turned, so he checked to see if he could reach out and kick at the table leg, maybe distract him by knocking the… no, dammit, there was no vase to knock over; Juliet had already broken it during their tabletop encounter.

Still, if he could kick the table at a crucial moment, it could be the moment Juliet needed to get the upper hand. _Keep that in mind._

He did spot one other object on the floor nearby which was kickable, but it was then they both heard the key in the lock.

Hugo moved quickly to stand to one side of the door, gun raised.

Juliet came in, calling Carlton's name, and in the same moment her gaze fell on him imprisoned in the chair, Hugo smoothly grabbed her by the arm and shoved the pistol against her temple. "Hello, my dear."

She never said a word. Hugo shut the door and locked it with his free hand, and then dragged her forward, removing her borrowed handgun from her jeans pocket.

"I decided to come see you in your sweet little love nest. It's so very dry up there in Skofield Park this time of year."

Juliet's dark blue eyes fixed on Carlton. "This has nothing to do with Carlton."

"It has everything to do with Carlton. He is the centerpiece of this whole business." He forced her into the closest chair, clamping a hand on her shoulder and never letting his gun out of her sight.

"Then let Gus go."

"He'll be fine," he said dismissively. "A few Tylenol and a gallon of ice cream and he'll be good as new."

Her jaw was set, and she was so beautiful, and Carlton was utterly sick at heart.

"You betrayed me." Hugo peered down at her, and she glared at him.

"I had no choice."

"You betrayed _him_."

She hesitated.

Carlton said roughly, "It's not betrayal to do the right thing."

Hugo laughed. "The right thing? You mean on top of a few very very _wrong_ things?"

"She did nothing wrong to me."

"You delusional git! She blinded you! And now she's flat out told you you're not even worth $375,000!"

"He's worth everything!" Juliet snapped. "You don't know a damn thing!"

Hugo made as if to strike her, and she flinched. "You are so naïve. You think saving Damski's life will put DiMera away, but so what if it does? You think there's not three more just like DiMera waiting in the wings to take over his operations? It's money, Juliet. Money always finds a way to corrupt, and most of the time, nobody even has to die."

"Says the psycho with the gun," Carlton said bitterly.

"But _this_ isn't about money," Hugo shot back. "_This_ is about revenge."

"The other great motive." Juliet pierced him with a look. "Greed, insanity and revenge. Those were the three, right?"

"And I've got two in spades," he breathed, his eyes cold. "Now you listen. You listen to what's going to happen here, my dear, dedicated former police officer. Before the admiring articles appear in the paper about your heroic attempt to save your partner just weeks after nearly killing him, you have to watch the effects of your duplicity unfold. I do hope you're ready. I don't want you to miss a single thing." He fished another pair of cuffs out of his jacket pocket, and hummed as he fastened one bracelet around her left hand.

His back was to Carlton.

Carlton reached out with one foot (grateful once again for long legs), corralled the object he'd spotted before, and kicked it straight and true and high.

**. . . .**

**. . .**

Juliet's mind was going in every direction: fear, anxiety, and anger chief among them.

But nothing prepared her for the sight of Woody's plush blue eyeball flying toward them, and the glimpse of Carlton's satisfied scowl beyond.

The eyeball struck Hugo in the back of the head and he turned in a rage—it couldn't have hurt him, unfortunately, but that moment of distraction was all she needed.

The second gun Carlton had given her was tucked in the back of her jeans, under her shirt, and while she was grabbing for it, Carlton shoved the table from where he sat. It was enough to make Hugo lose his balance, and she was on him, gun to his nose, sitting on his stomach in breathless triumph.

She chopped at his gun hand and he released the weapon involuntarily; she threw it across the room.

Carlton was on his feet, chair and all. "Cuffs. Find the key."

She ruthlessly searched Hugo's pockets until she found the key, keeping the bastard pinned in place partly with adrenalin-fueled fury, partly because of the gun to his nostrils, and eventually also because Carlton stepped closer and planted one foot firmly on Hugo's chest.

"There's something I've been meaning to tell you," she said hotly. "It's about Carlton, see. All that crap you told me about how he would be so lost without his sight. Without his career. You're so clever, Hugo. So very clever. You know so much about people. But you don't know one damned thing about Carlton Lassiter."

"I know enough," he hissed, "and I'm not wrong. You'll look back on this one day and cry bitter tears that you passed up a chance to make your crime against him right. Whether it's before or after he kills himself is anyone's guess."

She pushed the gun against his nose even harder. "No. Because, see, you overlooked a few things about him. You overlooked that he pulled himself up out of a crappy childhood and put himself through college when nobody thought he could. That he held the police department record for highest DET score for years. That he graduated the police academy with top honors. That he was the youngest cop ever named head detective and has an absolutely unmatched arrest record. And that for the last seven years, he's had to do his job despite the enormous distraction of Shawn Spencer. And he's still standing, Hugo. He's still standing, and you're the one down on your ass on the floor."

Carlton was staring at her. She could feel the sharpness of his gaze even through the dark glasses.

Hugo started to speak, but Juliet wasn't done. "Shut up. The point I'm making is that he doesn't give up just because someone else thinks he will. He doesn't just go into a fetal position and pine away. He fights, and he fights, and he _does not_ give up. And that's for _him_, Hugo. Not me or anyone else. He fights because that's who he is, and that's what he's made of, and blindness wouldn't do more than slow him down a little—and not for very damned long at that."

If he even said one word, she was going to shoot him in the nose. Twice.

Carlton was the one who broke the silence with a smooth, "Let's hope I never have to find out. Juliet, please cuff the son of a bitch. I'm tired of carrying this chair."

Juliet made it happen before Hugo could draw a breath (not that he was drawing many between her weight on his abdomen and Carlton's foot on his chest), and then rose so she could undo Carlton's cuffs.

He rubbed his wrists while she set the chair down and took off his dark glasses, and then he yanked her into his arms with enough force to make her gasp for air herself. He smiled and kissed her and Juliet heard him whisper "thanks" against her hair.

"Charming," Hugo spat from his lowly position.

Carlton pressed down harder with his foot. "Shut up. By the way, that mustache wasn't bad. Specialty shop?"

It took Hugo a moment to understand the implications of this remark. It took him another moment to realize Carlton's cold blue gaze was focused solely on him.

He looked up at Juliet, bitterness evident in both syllables as he said, "You bitch."

She gave him an icy but oh-so-satisfied smile. "I told you already that I'd always be a cop. But you thought you knew everything about me too, didn't you?"

Hugo said nothing at all.

**. . . .**

**. . .**


	16. Chapter 16: After The After The Crash

**CHAPTER SIXTEEN: After The After The Crash**

**. . . .**

**. . .**

Somewhat anticlimactically, Berman and his men showed up ready to kick the door in about two minutes after Carlton and Juliet hauled a completely pissed-off Hugo up onto one of the dining table chairs.

"I called Berman on my way home," she explained. "I had a feeling something was wrong."

Instantly, Carlton felt as if he'd been punched in the gut.

"You thought something was wrong but you still walked right in here and risked—" He stopped, trying to swallow some of his resurfacing fears. "My God, Juliet, you could have…"

He couldn't say more. He couldn't.

Now that it was over—now that there was _time_ to see how damn close they'd been to death—no.

Juliet put her hands on his arms, drawing him away from the others for a moment and speaking almost in a whisper, only for his ears. "Look me in the eye and tell me you wouldn't have done exactly the same thing."

He couldn't lie, but he still felt sick.

"I didn't know for sure he was here. But I… felt something was wrong and I knew, coming down the hall, that I had to go in. I knew there was no way he'd kill either one of us without playing some kind of mind game first, which would buy the time I needed until Berman got here… and oh, Carlton," she said more softly, "I _needed_ to know you were all right."

The expression in her dark blue eyes mesmerized him. She was fierce and loving and protective—and he realized with some wonder that he'd seen this look before over the years; perhaps not tinged with the same _kind_ of love, but definitely possessing the same fierceness—and it made him want to carry her off and hold her for a hundred years.

Juliet smiled gently, stroking his arms. "I know you understand this, even if you don't like it."

All he could do was pull her close and hug her hard until Berman approached to interrupt.

They were taking Hugo in, he said, and were sending men to pick up Gus, whose whereabouts Hugo had grudgingly revealed: a cabin in the hills near Skofield Park.

"Be careful with him," Carlton said, although he wasn't willing to examine why. "He's… kind of a friend." He resolutely ignored the startled glance Juliet gave him.

Berman promised Gus would be treated like gold.

He told them to report to the FBI office first thing in the morning for a full debriefing, but shouldn't out themselves until they'd been officially notified by Chief Vick. "Another half a day of lying low," he added wryly. "Sorry, but we have a lot of plates in the air."

Carlton—who had nearly offered to fetch Gus himself just for the chance to get out of the condo— was suddenly glad he and Juliet would have some decompression time before the real firestorm started.

Juliet slipped her hand into his when Berman turned to speak to Fuller, and he knew she felt the same way; it was in her smile as well as her touch.

Hugo was led out, and the look he gave the two of them was curiously dispassionate. "Well-played," he said coolly. "I'll learn from this, you know."

"Write from prison and tell us all about it," Juliet said just as coolly.

_Better yet_, Carlton thought, _die there of old age and don't write to us at all_.

**. . . .**

**. . .**

Gus was fine. A little bruised from the flailing he'd done when Hugo plucked him from the Blueberry that morning as he began his route, but otherwise fine.

The FBI hadn't told him much, only that Juliet was assisting them with a case and the man who'd kidnapped him was trying to draw her out. Gus, Fuller remarked, seemed disinclined to ask further questions. But then Gus had always been a big believer in 'ignorance is bliss.'

Juliet was relieved for another reason: the less he knew, the less he could tell Shawn.

This didn't stop Shawn from coming to the condo in the afternoon and bellowing questions through the door.

They didn't answer, let alone admit to being home, and Carlton finally called Chief Vick directly and asked for someone to come remove Shawn from the premises (because Juliet wouldn't let him shoot through the door).

Karen turned up herself. They heard her tell him flatly to stop harassing the residents and move on.

Shawn objected.

She reminded him she was the frickin' Chief of the frickin' Police and if she had to ask him a _second_ time to move on, her subsequent invitation would be for him to sit inside the squad car waiting for her downstairs.

"I just want to know what the hell Juliet was involved in which got Gus kidnapped!" he protested.

"And you will know, Mr. Spencer, but not today. Today you will leave here and go be with your friend. You know why? Because that's what a _friend_ would do."

From the hall, silence. Eventually Shawn huffed and strode away, and a few seconds later, Karen knocked quietly.

Juliet stood back while Carlton let her in and thanked her.

"My pleasure." Something about her smile made it clear she was exceptionally sincere. "Congratulations on a job well done. Berman and his superiors are very pleased with you."

"I'm just glad we can finally get back to reality," Juliet admitted, not that she knew what reality was any more (except _any_ version of it would include Carlton at her side).

"That, and out of this damn condo," Carlton added with feeling.

Karen leaned against the table. "In the morning, Berman and I will send a joint memo out to the station explaining somewhat vaguely your involvement in an unspecified undercover op. I expect to be fielding questions all day. Oh, and you'll both need the standard post-undercover psych evals, which I've taken the liberty of scheduling for Friday afternoon. I'll send you your appointment times later."

Juliet bit back a laugh as Carlton muttered, "Peachy."

"I knew you'd be pleased. Anyway, pending happy reports from the doctor, you should be able to return to work on Monday."

"Seems like forever to wait. And maybe not long enough." Juliet knew the road ahead would be a bit like a minefield. "Would you… if you don't mind… would you let us know how everyone reacts to it tomorrow?"

Karen obviously understood her concerns. "I will, but I can tell you now what they'll be." She smiled. "They'll be relieved, and confused. They'll be happy to know Carlton's not blind and that you didn't cause the wreck. They'll be happy you're coming back."

Carlton's expression was all skepticism. "You mean they'll be happy _Juliet_ is coming back."

"No, I mean you too, Carlton. Everything—and everyone—has been in a state of semi-chaos the past two weeks. I've let it slide because I knew it was short-term, but your management of the squad has been missed. _You_ have been missed."

He flushed a bit at her emphasis, and Juliet wanted to kiss his cheek but opted not to freak the Chief out.

Karen stood up. "I'll CC you on the email. The FBI won't release your names when they admit Damski's not dead, but even if you're never tied to any of this, the press will certainly figure out that the blinded head detective and his drunken partner… aren't, and weren't. The SBPD will issue a statement to the effect that you were involved in a federal undercover operation which of necessity we cannot comment on, etcetera."

Juliet felt uneasy. "It's going to be very complicated, isn't it."

"Yes it is." She crossed her arms and studied them both. "Now, about your personal relationship."

Carlton immediately flushed again and Juliet stopped resisting the urge to take his hand. "Chief…" He stopped, and calmed a little when she curled her fingers around his.

"We already talked about this, and I haven't changed my mind. I know you'll conduct yourselves professionally. However, I do urge you to keep it quiet for awhile until everyone's absorbed the first set of shocks."

This was very good advice. Juliet glanced at Carlton, and he nodded, his color back to normal. It was if, making it a project of sorts, he could better handle the eventual public revelation of their involvement.

_Involvement_, she scoffed. _Love__. The _ultimate_ partnership_.

"By the way," Karen added before she left, "if you have any more problems with Spencer, please call me before you shoot him."

"I won't shoot him," Carlton said with a moderate eye-roll.

"Oh, I didn't mean you _shouldn't_. I just want to be here to see it." She grinned and let herself out.

**. . . .**

**. . .**

Propped on one elbow, head in her hand, Juliet traced gentle lines across Carlton's face. From the frequent-frown area between his dark eyebrows and down the bridge of his nose, across the almost imperceptibly freckled skin under his ocean-blue eyes, along the line of his lips—now smiling—and across to his temples, where she skimmed his hairline and slid her fingers into his soft black and silver curling hair.

"What are you looking for?" he murmured.

She leaned in and kissed his warm cheek. "Nothing. I'm just treasuring what I have."

He turned his head and smiled, and the ocean was beautifully calm.

This Monday morning they were returning to work, and these moments were likely the least stressful they'd have all day long. The momentary plan was to go for a run together—get back to a routine that they now could share—but then again, lying here quietly was much preferable.

Carlton rolled over and eased her into his arms, against his furred chest, and Juliet felt she might be purring. "We're going to be fine, partner."

She hoped he was right. It wasn't like him to be optimistic—he'd say so himself—but she knew he shared her core feeling that together, they would be able to get through anything. _Together._

Karen Vick's joint email with Agent Berman to station personnel on Thursday morning had been brisk and uninformatively informative. She called them in the afternoon to say her prediction of its reception was accurate.

Buzz, she told them with a smile obvious in her tone, got the sniffles and had to excuse himself for a while. Patricia Allen had clutched her crystals, beaming with joy, and took a long lunch to go light extra candles and visit her spiritualist (whom, she assured Karen, would probably already have 'sensed' this turn of events). Dobson and Miller high-fived each other and the station manager went out to personally buy an extra round of doughnuts for the day shift.

Woody looked confused and said he thought he'd imagined the whole thing anyway.

Stroking Carlton's shoulder and sighing against his so-warm skin, Juliet couldn't help but remember in detail their Friday morning "conversation" with Shawn and Henry.

Since their individual psych evals were scheduled for the afternoon, they'd discussed reluctantly the need to address the problem head-on, and decided to ask Henry if they could come see him—and Shawn.

Juliet made the call, keeping it short. Henry, who'd heard the news, was equally short, but agreed to get Shawn over there before lunch.

She was glad now, in this cool pre-dawn, for the comfort of Carlton's hands moving on her back, and his kisses to her temple.

Standing in Henry's house, Shawn was outraged and cold. Henry was more practical. Not that he was promoting a group hug or anything, but he was clearly a little on edge about having been cut from the loop despite his ex-cop's understanding of how necessary it had been—and probably embarrassed to some degree about his visit to Carlton and later 'stalking' of Juliet.

In contrast, Shawn played it as if he understood nothing, as if they had deliberately set out to hurt him and only him by their exclusion, and that merely doing their jobs wasn't enough reason for the deception.

His cool hazel gaze remained fixed on Juliet the whole time. She and Carlton were seated together on Henry's sofa, but not too close, and Shawn didn't even like that.

He'd said abruptly, "So was _anything_ true? When you were yelling at me and Victoria?"

Juliet heard Carlton's intake of breath—and shared his annoyance—but willed him to keep silent.

"We yelled," she said patiently, "because you and Victoria were out of line. You should never have brought her there, and you know it. It was intrusive and… and condescending."

"I was trying to help," he snapped.

"You were thinking of yourself," Henry said with great calm. "I know it, and I wasn't even there."

Shawn was unfazed. "And then you got Gus kidnapped! If you'd told me about any of this, I could have helped!"

Carlton's jaw clenched, and Juliet once again gave up trying not to touch him: she reached over and claimed his hand out of his lap, because if these two men—of all people—didn't already know where her heart lay, then this was as good a time to make it clear as any.

"Thank you, Henry," Carlton said, surprising her with how calm he sounded. "Thank you for coming to see me in the hospital. I told you then I appreciated it, and I meant it."

"And thank you for trying to offer some advice in the bar," Juliet added. "If I'd been able to tell you the truth, you know I would have."

"And thank you, Sp… Shawn." Carlton cleared his throat, and his fingers tightened around hers, proving at least privately how difficult these words were. "We may not understand your true motives or your way of handling things, or, really, any damned thing you do, but if we take it at face value, your concern was real and you took the time to show it."

_Way nicer than I would have been_, she mused. _Certainly nicer than Shawn deserves. Maybe Carlton could run for office some day, if he can be that politically correct_.

_Nah. He'd challenge his first debate opponent to a duel and then arrest everyone who showed up to watch_.

Shawn blinked. He hesitated. Then he mumbled, "It's cool."

Juliet tried to find her own words, but Carlton's were best. "That goes for me, too."

He slouched against the wall, hands in his pockets, gaze on the carpet now. "Okay."

_Okay. _

_We can build from 'okay.'_

Carlton ran one fingertip down her spine, here now in their bed, and she shivered. "What are you worrying about?"

"Whether you have time to make love to me before we get up."

"Oh, I think I can—" He couldn't finish, because she kissed him, a long lovely intimate kiss accompanied by her leg moving all by itself to drape over his hip.

"I _know_ you can," she moaned when his hand moved between them and began tormenting her.

_We'll get back to running tomorrow_, she decided, because the pleasure spasms he was causing her right now were surely exercise enough—and she had every intention of returning the favor as soon as she could think anything more complicated than _oh my God more please more_.

**. . . .**

**. . .**

Carlton buckled up and took a moment while Juliet did the same to marvel anew at how his life had changed so completely.

They weren't going to out themselves formally as a couple. But Juliet started moving her belongings in over the weekend, and they were going to drive to work together, and that was that. Discretion was one thing; deprivation was another, and neither of them was willing to try the latter.

He couldn't even remember what it was like to sleep alone, and it had only been a week and a half.

Juliet got a phone call from a cousin—her one call to her mother on Thursday had been enough to spread the news throughout her entire family and most of her friends—and he drove, feeling reasonably… okay… about the day ahead.

She laughed at something her cousin said and he flashed back to his phone call to Victoria. He hadn't wanted to speak to her directly but Juliet said he had to, and Juliet was rarely wrong about that people-skills crap.

He'd campaigned for the right to send a cordial email, and she frowned disapprovingly.

"I had to deal with Shawn; you have to deal with Victoria."

"But I was right there _with_ you," he protested. "You can't be with me in a phone call."

She smiled tightly. "Well, first of all, you're lucky I'm not insisting you talk to her face-to-face, and second, if I'm ever in the same room with Victoria Parker again, only one of us is coming out alive, and you can bet your ass it won't be Little Miss Let Me Call You 'Carl.'"

Yeah, a phone call would work.

The conversation was brief and chilly: Victoria, much like Shawn, did not need to have it spelled out that _while I apologize for the deception, I regret nothing I said to you because you sure as hell had it coming_.

They agreed it was an unusual situation; have a nice life, goodbye.

_Hello_, he thought, glancing at his lovely, lovely Juliet. _Hello to _this_, forever_.

Their psych evaluations went well. The doctor spent more time talking to Juliet than to him, and Carlton had sat restless in the waiting room, worried for her, worried for… _them_. He would always have a little doubt about his worthiness as a mate, and although he hadn't spoken to the doctor about the change in their relationship, he had a feeling the man knew anyway.

And if he knew it, then one reason Juliet's session took longer could be that he was cautioning her against involvement with her partner. _That_ partner. That partner he'd met with before.

The angry, distrustful, paranoid, hardline older divorced guy. Yeah, him.

But Juliet came out smiling and they had an early dinner out in public and then went home and boinked like wild bunnies until the wee hours, so…

He smiled. Yeah, him.

She finished up her call as he pulled the Fusion into a parking space at the station, and he reached over to take her hand.

"You ready?"

"No. Well, yes. I'm ready to work but I'm not ready for…" She gestured helplessly. "The unknown."

Neither was he, honestly. They'd heard from many of their coworkers in the past few days, and it was all positive, and it made him nervous to entertain the possibility of so many people _not_ actively disliking him.

"We'll get the strange parts over fast," he promised, hoping it was true.

She carried the small bag; he carried the large one. It was still early, before the main shift, but as they expected, Sergeant Allen was already at her station in Booking, and they stopped there first.

Her eyes grew wide, almost frighteningly so, and she scurried out from behind the desk and threw her arms around Carlton before he even registered her target. The scent of sandalwood, the sound of clinking jewelry, and the _ooof_ he let out as his lungs were flattened were the three main sensations, until he realized she was sniffling and Juliet was trying not to laugh.

Juliet tapped on her shaking shoulder and offered her a small box (along with a thank-you note she'd insisted he write out himself), and a teary Patricia opened it up and was transformed into a child on Christmas morning: it was full of crystals from her favorite shop.

She hugged Carlton fiercely again and then went after Juliet (Carlton did not intervene despite her silent pleas for help), and when she turned away to blow her nose, they fled in silent agreement, down the stairs and around the corner…

… to Woody's lair.

Carlton steeled himself at the door. "Just so you know," he said evenly, "If Woody comes within five feet of me, I _will_ draw my weapon."

"And if he comes within five feet of _me_, _I_ will draw your weapon," she said just as evenly.

They looked at each other, and—also in silent agreement—switched sides so she'd have easier access just in case.

Woody looked up from a tray full of bones. "Oh, hello." He counted out a few femurs and then asked pleasantly—for after all, he was always pleasant—if he could help them with something.

Carlton debated saying _sorry, we have the wrong room_. Juliet read his mind and gave him A Look.

He sucked it up. "We wanted to thank you."

"Oh! How nice." He beamed. "For what?"

Juliet took over when she realized Carlton was flummoxed. "When you came to visit last week. That was nice of you."

"Was it?"

He was a child, really. A toddler. Maybe an alien toddler. Carlton sighed. "You brought pizza and an eyeball."

"Pizza! Wow, I would really love a pizza right now."

"It's seven a.m.," Juliet pointed out carefully.

"Yes, but there's no wait at this hour. The delivery guys are just _praying_ for customers."

_I… I got nothin'._

"We wanted you to have this," Carlton said, fighting not to show the impatience he felt whenever he was in Woody's presence too long. He thrust out the gift bag, which contained the plush eyeball.

Woody took it excitedly. "How thoughtful!"

Juliet glanced at Carlton and shook her head. "It saved our lives, you see. Carlton was able to kick it at the guy who about to kill us, and the distraction allowed me to get the upper hand."

The man actually gasped. "Oh, my God! Someone was about to kill you? Did you make it out okay?"

Carlton had no words. In fact, he was pretty sure his brain was beginning to melt.

Juliet bit her lip. "Yes. We're fine."

"Thank _heavens_." Woody put his hand to his chest, profoundly relieved.

"So, uh, we thought this eye could sort of watch over _you_ here in the lab." Her smile was bright. "We hope you like it."

In actuality, Carlton had made it clear to Juliet that he would set the damn thing on fire rather than have it roll around in his condo even one more day. No matter where he stashed it, it always seemed to end up in his path. Juliet swore she wasn't moving it. He mostly believed her, until Sunday afternoon when they were leading each other to the bedroom for a little 'nap' which would not involve sleep, and the big blue eyeball was sitting squarely on his pillow. He looked at her sternly; she dissolved into giggles; he gave her _a good talking to_ (naked, half up against the wall and the rest on the floor, and mostly via moans and gasps), and they'd hatched their regifting plan together.

Woody pulled the eye out of the bag, seemingly euphoric. Then his expression changed and he looked up at them in wonder. "It's all coming back to me now! And wow! This is _exactly_ like the one I gave you!"

Without missing a beat, Juliet said, "Yes. Yes, it is."

_That's it. Leaving now._

He turned away without waiting for Juliet, but Woody's anxious voice stilled him.

"Lassie! I just remembered about your eyes. Did you ever get your vision back?"

Carlton opened his mouth. He looked at Juliet. He looked at Woody. He closed his mouth.

Juliet was frozen, caught in her own what-the-hell fugue state.

_Deep breath. C'mon, Lassiter. You can do this._

He said briskly, as if Woody weren't a wingnut, "Not yet. Soon, though. Couple of weeks, tops. Nice bone collection, Strode."

Juliet caught up with him at the bottom of the stairs, laughing and laughing until he pulled her around into the alcove and put his arms around just to help her settle down.

"We pay this man," he said wonderingly. "We pay him actual money."

"Is it the chemicals?" Juliet asked just as wonderingly.

"Not the ones from the _job_." He tilted her head up, caressing her soft cheek. "By the way, you're beautiful."

She blushed and squeezed him hard.

"But regrettably, we do have to go upstairs now."

She sighed, then took a quick look around before leaning up and kissing him quickly. "For courage."

He stole a kiss of his own. "For my own courage."

It was hard not to take hold of her hand as they went up the stairs. Sgt. Allen would have had time to alert everyone to their arrival, and sure enough, as they reached first floor, it started.

At first he couldn't process what was going on. There had to be some other… thing… going on. He even looked over his shoulder to see if someone else was coming up the stairs behind them, but no.

An intake of breath at his side reminded him he wasn't alone—and what was going on was probably mostly for her.

Everywhere they looked, people were smiling at them. Uniforms, detectives, administrative staff. Buzz, looking like he might still be as sniffly as Karen mentioned last week.

Carlton and Juliet advanced further, slowly… and then the applause started.

He stopped; Juliet went a step beyond, but then she stopped too.

Karen Vick came out her office—and she applauded along with the others.

His heart was pounding, like he was some kind of rookie out for his first bust. He glanced at Juliet and she was pale, but becoming pinker each second. Her hand went to her lips, as if to conceal their trembling, and she looked back at him with misty eyes.

_So damned beautiful._

He started applauding too.

Juliet gasped and the tears escaped, and despite their audience she rushed into his arms and hugged him, hiding her face from everyone—but never her heart from him.

Carlton laughed and soothed her, and Karen approached, all smiles for both of them. "Good morning, detectives! It is very nice to have you back."

Composing herself, Juliet stepped back from Carlton and wiped a tear off her cheek, still flushed. "Thank you, Chief. It is very very nice to _be_ back."

This generated a fresh round of applause.

Karen gave an indulgent glance to the rallying troops behind her. "I don't suppose there's a chance in hell of getting any real work done today, so come on into the conference room and let's get this doughnut party started."

That generated several actual cheers, and they were swept along in the tide of goodwill.

For the next hour, Carlton heard one inexplicable remark after another: _so pleased you're all right_; _we really missed you, man_; _the place wasn't the same without you_; _my wife told me to man up but I almost didn't want to be a cop if you weren't here_.

He stared at Buzz, who was completely sincere, since it was physiologically impossible for him to be otherwise. "I…" He floundered a moment, and chose the truth. "Thanks, but it would be a damn shame for you to leave the force. We need more dedicated, hard-working officers like you."

For a second he thought Buzz was going to pass out.

_Dial it back. He's used to you being a bastard._

But before he could bring Buzz down to earth with a well-placed harsh word, Juliet approached with a cup of coffee and a smile which lit her eyes and warmed her heart.

"If we time this right, we can party until lunch time."

"If we time it better," he countered, "we can swing _home_ at lunchtime."

"For lunch, you mean." It was a challenge, but a quirk of her eyebrow said she knew exactly what he had in mind.

"O'Hara, what _else_ would I mean?"

"That 'innocent' look doesn't work for you, Irish." She stood a little closer, her voice dropping. "At least six people made a point of telling me they were enormously relieved you're all right and back to work." Sipping her coffee, she added slyly, "And I see that blush."

Carlton shifted uncomfortably. "I admit to having a problem with… praise not related to my actual work."

Before Juliet could do more than roll her eyes, Karen Vick called out to get everyone's attention. "All right, I think it's time we at least pretended to get back to work, and certainly we've saved a lot of it for our returning heroes. Detectives O'Hara and Lassiter, please join me in my office so I can bring you up to speed on our current cases."

She went out first, and Carlton stood to follow them, but Juliet paused in the wide hall, looking at their desks, at the walls which had surrounded them all these years.

"It's like I was gone forever," she murmured.

"Regrets?"

With a smile, she sipped her coffee. "None. As far as I'm concerned, this was the best assignment ever."

He slid his hands in his pockets lest he give in to the urge to touch her. "Hell yeah. Thanks to you, DiMera and Nardi and their operation are officially kaput."

Juliet pinned him where he stood with a stern look. "It wasn't just me who did that, and it isn't them I meant." She relaxed, and her smile now was a balm, like always, only now he felt it was only for him. "When are you going to marry me?"

Carlton blushed down to his feet. "As soon as you let me."

Karen tapped peremptorily on the glass pane of her door and they started moving again.

"We'll talk," Juliet said with a little smile.

"Soon," he agreed.

"Over 'lunch,' maybe?"

"_After_ 'lunch,'" he corrected. "I doubt I'll be able to talk with my mouth full."

Now it was Juliet who blushed a deep pink, and as he closed the door behind them in the office, Carlton knew one thing for certain: as long as he lived, and as long as she'd let him, he would stand at Juliet's side.

And later, over their 'lunch,' Juliet's whispered words of love left no doubt that she felt exactly the same about him.

**. . . . .**

**. . . .**

**. . .**

**E N D**


End file.
